Threshold
by the ramblin rose
Summary: Caryl, AU. In life there are always changes. Some of them are good, others are bad, but we're always on the threshold of something new. Daryl was a single father to a little girl who was his whole world, but maybe both of them were at the threshold of something that would change their lives forever.
1. Chapter 1

**AN: Hi everyone. So this story is a multi-chapter. According to my plans, it'll be thirty chapters long, give or take a few. It's a Daryl as a single dad story (with a bit more), but quite different than any that I've done before.**

 **Before we get started, I have to say that I know that everyone has their own idea of what is in character and not in character for their favorite characters. I say that everyone has their own idea because we all see characters from our own perspectives and, if we're going by the show, people can act any number of ways in any number of episodes with very little explanation. That being said, I'll add the disclaimer that to some, some of the characters may, for at least a little while, appear out of character. For others, they won't. I understand their actions because I've seen the whole story, but as readers, you only see them as we go along. I'll trust you to make your own decisions about reading, since you know better than anyone what you want to read and what you don't want to read.**

 **I own nothing from the Walking Dead. The only thing I own are original characters and storylines.**

 **I hope that you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

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"OK, kiddo, it's time for a bath," Daryl said, walking into Sophia's room. He found her, just like he knew he would, lying on her bed and pouring over the comic books that she plucked every week off the grocery store shelves. Sophia could read better than any kid her age. She was ahead of everyone in her class. Daryl had heard her teachers credit it to the fact that he'd been reading to her every night since she was a newborn—the only way he'd ever found to really calm her down for sleep—but Daryl figured it was something more than that.

He didn't love to read. Not at all. But even in the short amount of time he'd known Sophia's mother, Daryl recalled that she'd mentioned a love of books. It was a love of books that she'd passed to her daughter as surely as she'd passed her those eyes and a multitude of freckles.

"Just like four more pages," Sophia insisted.

"Time for a bath," Daryl repeated. "It's already gettin' late and I ain't fightin' you to get'cha outta bed in the morning. Let's go. The books ain't goin' nowhere."

Sophia sighed, but she got up from her spot. She clomped, as heavily as her small frame would allow her, out of the bedroom and down the hallway to the bathroom. Daryl stood in place until he heard the bathroom door close and the faucet turn on.

Daryl gathered up the comic books spread on Sophia's bed and marked her place in the open book with the unicorn bookmark that was lying there. He put them on the stack of books beside her nightstand and then he straightened the covers on the bed she hadn't made that morning and turned them back for her before he found her stuffed unicorn and put it on her pillow.

Sophia was a seven year old girl nearly at the threshold of eight and, as far as Daryl knew, she was just like every other girl her age out there. She had a wide range of interests. She loved unicorns and kittens and puppies and all things pink and lavender. She loved cars and old westerns and softball. She loved make believe, but she probably knew more about the realities of the world than most girls her age.

And more than anything, she loved Daryl. The feeling, too, was entirely mutual.

When Sophia had first come into Daryl's life, his brother had urged him to get a DNA test. He had no way of knowing if she was his kid or if she was just her mother's way of taking him for a ride. That's what Merle had said, at least, but Daryl knew different.

Sophia had come to him in the same way that every child showed up on cold, dark, and rainy nights in the movies. She was a classic baby left on the doorstep. Except the night that Sophia had come into Daryl's life, it had just reached the twilight hour where the day slipped into night. There was just enough darkness to swallow up her mother and hide her from prying eyes. It hadn't been cold. It had been a balmy evening in July. There hadn't been rain for weeks. And Sophia's basket had been an expensive car seat with a visor on it that had hidden her from mosquitos and the few moments of elements she'd been exposed to while she waited on Daryl to find her.

Sophia had come to him with a full range of legal papers tucked into the carrier. Everything was there that Daryl needed to take full and legal custody of the child. Carol M. Peletier had signed away her rights to the baby's father—one Daryl N. Dixon. All he had to do was file the papers and Sophia was his. Along with the legal papers, there had also been a letter. Daryl still had it, tucked down in the back of his nightstand drawer and hidden with a wide array of other things.

The letter told him that it was the hardest letter that she'd ever written. The letter said that what she was about to do—leaving Sophia on his doorstep—was the hardest thing that she had ever done. But it was a decision that she had to make for the good of her daughter. It was the only way that she could give her daughter the life she deserved. She feared, honestly, that it was the only way that she could give her daughter any life at all.

Daryl had nearly worn the letter through in places from reading it so often and rubbing his fingers over the curling letters that her hands had set there.

Merle had urged him to get a DNA test, but Daryl didn't need it. Whether or not Sophia was biologically his child, she was his daughter. She had been since the moment he'd brought the carrier inside to figure out what in the hell she was doing out there and who might have left her at his door.

It might have been a one night stand—an accident of sorts, even—but it wasn't something that Daryl had forgotten. He might never be able to forget Carol—especially now since her eyes looked back at him so often from his daughter's face.

Daryl had never believed in love at first sight, but he believed in it now. He'd loved Carol from the moment he'd seen her. Even knowing that she couldn't be his, he'd known that it would do nothing to change his feelings for her. They were strong and sudden and entirely out of his control. His love for Sophia, too, had been just as instant. The feelings were different, of course, but they'd been no less powerful. And Daryl had been no less powerless against them.

Sophia didn't know her mother. Not physically, at least. According to Carol's letter, it wasn't safe and it never would be for Sophia to know her. She was Daryl's daughter, and that was all that mattered. She trusted him to raise her as he thought best. She trusted him to decide what it was he would tell Sophia, when she asked—because she would surely ask—about her mother.

She trusted Daryl because she couldn't care for Sophia herself, and she had to know that her daughter was with someone she trusted.

Daryl could have told his daughter anything about her mother. He could have told her that she died. He could have told her that she was a horrible woman who deserted her on a doorstep when she was two days old. He could have told her that she never loved her and that was why she left.

But that would hurt Sophia, and Daryl would never hurt Sophia.

And it wasn't true.

So Daryl told his daughter what was in his heart to tell her. He told her that her mother loved her. Her mother loved her so very much that she'd done something for her that had very nearly killed her. She'd done something that every parent knew would tear their heart out—but she'd done it from love. She'd loved Sophia more than she loved herself. That was why she'd given Sophia to Daryl to raise. That was why she'd entrusted Daryl with the very important, and almost sacred, job of making sure that Sophia had the very best life that she could possibly have.

Carol had hurt herself to make sure that her daughter wasn't hurt.

Daryl had heard some call it selfishness, but he called it the ultimate sacrifice.

Because, now that he was Sophia's father, he could only imagine the strength of will that it would take for him to make such a decision. He could only imagine the strength that it would take, knowing that Sophia would have a better life with someone else—maybe the only kind of life that she could have – to hand her over to someone else and walk away. He wasn't sure that he could do it. He wasn't sure that he wouldn't have crawled away, on his hands and knees, just to collapse in a ditch somewhere and pray for the end of his suffering.

The worn letter spoke to that pain. And though Daryl hadn't understood it when he'd been holding an unexpected two-day-old baby girl, he understood it now. He understood it more and more with each passing day and each passing year.

He hoped he'd done right by Carol in the way that he had raised Sophia so far. He hoped he continued to do right by her. He hadn't known much about raising children when she'd come to him, but he was doing his best, and he thought that Sophia had a good life. She had everything she needed, most of what she wanted, and enough love to keep her happy and honest.

Sophia was Daryl's whole world, and he was better for it.

Sophia padded into her bedroom to find Daryl sitting on the edge of her bed. Dripping still from her poor attempts to dry off and wrapped awkwardly in her towel, Sophia turned her eyes up at Daryl. They were red and she let of her towel with one hand, scrambling to hold it with the other, to scrub at them.

"I got soap in my eyes, Daddy," Sophia said.

"Did you wash it out?" Daryl asked.

Sophia nodded her head.

"Get it out good, or it still burns?" Daryl asked.

"Burns," Sophia said.

Daryl stood up and scooped his daughter up, towel and all. He carried her into the bathroom and turned the faucet on at the sink before he put her feet on the plastic stool that she used to brush her teeth and wash her hands.

"Lean in here," Daryl said, reaching for the washrag. Sophia leaned into the sink and Daryl wet the rag. He helped her wash her eyes out, continuing to flush them with the cool water until she told him that she thought they were done. Then he pulled the hand towel off its hook and dried her face before he scooped her up against him again and kissed her cheek. "Better?" He asked. She nodded at him. "You figured they weren't clean enough?" He teased, squeezing her against him gently.

She sighed.

"I didn't mean to," Sophia said. "It got outta my control again."

"That's some pretty poor behavior for some soap," Daryl said with a laugh. "I'll see if I can't have a talkin' to with it tonight."

Sophia laughed to herself.

"You do that," she said. "It needs it. That's the second time this week, you know."

Daryl laughed to himself.

"You right," Daryl said. "That's the second time this week. Might just fire that soap and see about hirin' some more that knows better'n to burn people's eyes."

As Daryl stepped over the threshold into Sophia's room, he lowered her feet to the floor and she darted off from him, her towel lost along the way, to run directly to her dresser. He picked up the towel off the floor and sat on the foot of the bed while Sophia wrestled her slightly damp body into her underwear and pajamas. Then she came and stood in front of him, offering him a comb in her outstretched hand. Daryl used the towel to mop the excess water out of her hair and then he ran the comb through it, working out the knots while she hissed at him.

"You brush your teeth?" Daryl asked.

"Sure did," Sophia said. She huffed in his direction, blowing her breath at him. He could pick up a hint of the minty aroma. Still, he laughed to himself.

"Don't blow your breath on other people, OK?" Daryl asked. "That's just a you an' me thing."

"And Andrea," Sophia pointed out.

"Your aunt an' uncle ain't people," Daryl pointed out. "Get a story. Get in."

Sophia went to her bookshelf and picked a book for Daryl to read to her. The bedtime stories were always the same ones—Sophia got from him that she was a creature of habit—and Daryl patted the bed. Sophia got under her cover and Daryl moved his body to lie down next to her. He got the book situated and Sophia rested her head on his chest while he read the story to her.

No matter how short the story was, she'd fall asleep there. She did every night. And no matter how much he had to do, Daryl would lie there longer than he had to just to feel her sleeping against him. Since she had been a tiny thing, both of them tortured by the colic that had plagued her for a while, the feeling of pressure on his chest that came from Sophia resting there had been a comfort to Daryl. Finally, though, he'd move her and he'd ease out of his spot. He'd kiss her goodnight, though she'd be long gone from the world, and he'd make sure that the unicorn night light was working properly.

He'd check the stove three times to make sure it was off—even if he hadn't used it all day. He'd check the door locks twice as many times to make sure they were secure, always pulling back on the knobs as though he one day expected the deadlocks to fail. His brother called it obsession and compulsion—Daryl called it making sure that nothing he absolutely couldn't prevent happened to the most precious thing in his life.

And then, he'd check on her one more time before he went to bed himself.

Sophia might never truly know how much her mother had loved her to do what she'd done. She might never truly know how much Daryl loved her to do all that he did. She might never know that she was the most loved little girl in all the world.

 _But Daryl knew._

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 **Disclaimer: I know that Madison Lintz's eyes are not blue (and therefore Sophia's are not), but for the purposes of this story, they are. I'm sorry if that bugs someone.**


	2. Chapter 2

**AN: Here we are, another chapter here. We're still setting things up right now and getting to know these versions of our characters.**

 **I want to thank all of you who have reviewed so far to let me know that you're interested in the story. The support always means more than you know!**

 **I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

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Since Sophia had come into his life, Daryl had moved three times. He'd moved almost immediately after gaining full custody of her because he figured that if Carol had something to fear that was great enough to press her to leave her two day old daughter on his doorstep, that something might very well be something that Daryl needed to fear as well. He wasn't sure which of the surrounding areas Carol called "home," and he'd never pried too deeply into it, but he'd put a few towns between them at any rate. The second time he'd moved, Sophia had barely been four and Daryl had chosen to move again because he'd discovered that gossip travelled. Sophia's mother might not be known to the locals, but her situation had gotten out. He'd moved to keep Sophia from suffering from the gossip. The third time he'd moved for convenience when his job had switched hands and he'd found a better offer at a different location.

And now, he was moving for the fourth time—and he really hoped it was the last.

Sophia was old enough that people had lost interest in her story. Daryl was a single father and Sophia's mother was out of the picture. That's all anybody needed to know and, these days, that was all anybody really asked. If they wanted to dig a little deeper, and get a little nosier, Daryl was always prepared to offer them the vaguest explanation possible of how he'd come to be Sophia's only parent.

Daryl figured, as well, that he and Sophia had been gone from the area that he'd once called home long enough that anyone who might remember Sophia from the two days before she'd come to him was gone—except for maybe Carol, but she wasn't looking for them.

So when Merle had called about a job, Daryl had been willing, at least, to hear what his brother had to say.

Merle's wife, Andrea, was a respected lawyer. She'd gotten a good job at a firm that was changing hands, thanks to the retirement of a senior partner, just two towns away from where Daryl had spent most of his life. It was a small enough town that Daryl didn't have to worry too much about it being a good place to raise his daughter, but it was big enough that people had things to entertain them beyond strictly discussing the other locals. Merle followed Andrea wherever she went and he'd taken a job at a body shop in town—a shop which just happened to be hiring and just happened to be looking to add a few good hands for body repair.

The schools were good. The neighborhoods were nice. And living there would put Daryl, for the first time in a couple of years, close enough to his brother and sister in law that visiting them wouldn't require a three hour drive. That, Daryl knew, would be good for him and Sophia both.

Sophia hadn't minded the idea of a move when Daryl had sat her down and talked it over with her. As soon as he'd calmed her concerns and let her know that she would be taking all her beloved things with her, she'd been more than on-board for a Daddy-Daughter adventure of seeking a new life and a new home—one that Daryl hoped would be permanent. The promise of her aunt and uncle close by had sweetened the deal, and Daryl was sure that Merle's mention of a backyard big enough for a mutt hadn't hurt too much. Sophia had nothing to hold her to any one place. Daryl had accidentally turned her into something of a nomad and, like Daryl, she was a bit of a loner. She wasn't a problem child, she never got into fights, she got good grades, and she didn't have difficulties with other children, but she simply didn't seem to bond with them. She preferred to keep her "circle" small. And, so far, her circle had included only Daryl, the other two immediate members of her family that existed, and an imaginary friend that had tagged along with her since she'd been somewhere around the age of five.

Daryl hoped, eventually, some of that might change for his daughter.

The house sold easily enough, and Merle already had his eye on a place that a friend of Andrea's was selling out of a housing development that he'd built. The friend was going to show the place to Daryl as soon as they got into town and, if it was everything it was cracked up to be, Daryl would make an offer on it. Daryl was practically a master packer and he'd shelled out a couple of bucks to a few people from his now-former place of employment to help him load the trailer he'd rented to pull behind his truck—a one way haul.

"Soph...let's go," Daryl said, hanging his head back into the empty house. His voice echoed around the space that a week before they'd called home.

"I can't find Nico!" Sophia called from her former bedroom. "I can't find him nowhere, Daddy!"

"Nico's already in the truck," Daryl said. "I put him in there beside your seat."

"And my light?" Sophia asked, coming back through the house. "I can't see without it."

Daryl laughed to himself.

"In the box in the trailer that I wrote on it...I wrote "Sophia's first" so that we'd know to open it first," Daryl said. "Comin' out the back the minute we get to Uncle Merle's and Aunt Andrea's," Daryl assured her.

"We didn't forget nothin'?" Sophia asked.

Daryl shrugged his shoulders and looked around. The only things he'd left behind were some curtains that had been up since he'd bought the house. He planned to replace those in their new home with something nicer.

"You see somethin' we gotta have?" Daryl asked. "They might be some—bug houses under the sink or somethin', but I don't think the roaches would appreciate if we took they homes with us."

Sophia looked a little worried about the roaches for a second. She looked around her, her eyes scanning the kitchen from floor to ceiling, and she shook her head.

"You're sure Nico's in the truck?" Sophia asked.

"I'm positive your unicorn is in the truck," Daryl said. "Made you a lil' snack bag back there. Got you a drink. Nico. A couple of your books. Everythin' else we got's in the back."

"Tonight we're sleepin' in our new house?" Sophia asked.

Daryl shook his head.

"Tonight we're sleepin' at Merle and Andrea's house," Daryl said. "It's their new house, but it's just like you like to do at Christmas. House is new, but it's gonna be the same thing as every time we get to see them...except this time? We're gonna see them a lot more regular and you don't have to cry when we leave. Tonight? It's gonna be all four of us there. Uncle Merle'll prob'ly let'cha pick a movie to watch an' Aunt Andrea's gonna wake you up with a breakfast that'll make your tummy ache from eatin' too much. Tomorrow? You an' me gonna go look at a house that might be our new house. That's gonna be OK?"

Sophia nodded her head.

"We can have chicken nuggets for supper?" Sophia asked, offering her hand to Daryl. He took her hand in his and walked her to the door, letting her out in front of him.

"Sure, Soph," Daryl agreed. "We can get chicken nuggets for supper."

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"The price is good on it if it's as nice as you say it is," Daryl said.

"It is," Merle assured him. "Nice as this house...wouldn't'cha say, sugah?"

Andrea nodded. She looked like she was half asleep. She probably would have been good to go to bed when Sophia had turned in an hour before. Opening her mouth to speak only caused her to yawn and she covered her mouth a second for it to pass before she spoke.

"It's a nice house, Daryl," Andrea said. "They don't even officially go on the market until next week. But when I told Ty that you were a single father, and Merle's brother? When I mentioned you were hoping to move here to get closer to family? It got his attention. He said he'd be willing to sell to you early as long as you don't mind staying here a couple of nights while they finish up the whole—inspections and last minute hurrahs."

Daryl shook his head.

"We can stay here however long we gotta," Daryl said. "Just don't like puttin' you out like this."

"Puttin' us out," Merle said with a laugh. "Fillin' up them bedrooms that would lay empty except for junk if you didn't sleep there. That's really puttin' our asses out."

"You know what I mean," Daryl said. "Soph's up early. Nobody sleeps when she's up."

"And you fix her breakfast and she practically entertains herself," Andrea said. "Don't try to use Soph as your excuse for not staying. I understand if you don't want to be up under us—but don't put it on Sophia."

Daryl laughed to himself.

"You right," Daryl said. "It's me. I'm anxious for us to find a place. Get settled. Ya know? Really settled. Movin'—makes me itchy. Sophia don't like this part either. The change? We just ain't cut out for it. We both like the calm and the...the everyday."

"Tomorrow we'll go look at the house," Andrea said. "I'll call Ty up in the morning and we'll get the keys. I know you're going to love it. Once you're settled on it and you've taken care of things with him? Merle'll take you out to the shop and get you settled in there while I have a little girls' day with Sophia and show her the park. You're looking at a week, Daryl, of your world being topsy turvy before you get to settle back into things and go back to the same old same."

"This is the last damn time I'm moving," Daryl said. "And I made this move to be closer to you two sorry asses." He pointed at Andrea. "So you best be satisfied with this firm you at and don't be dragging my brother all around Georgia again. I ain't trailin' you like no roadie."

Andrea laughed and crossed her heart with her finger.

"I've known Michonne since law school," Andrea said. "The firm is nice. It's growing, but she doesn't have any plans to let it get too big. Big enough to keep busy, but small enough to be personal. That's Michonne's motto and it suits me well. Now that her father's retiring? It's all hers and I really can't imagine myself going anywhere else."

"Just make sure you don't," Daryl teased. "Because I'm tellin' you, I ain't movin' again."

"We hear ya, lil' brother," Merle said with a snort. "You settlin' down. Puttin' down some roots."

"It's not that," Daryl said. He hummed. "Maybe it's that. It's just—I want Sophia to have a place that she calls home, ya know? When she grows up an'—she goes wherever she wants to go? I want her to have a place that she looks back on and she says—that's my home. That's where I go when I...when I got no damn where else to go. It's always there. Always waitin' on me when I got a mind to go back. I keep haulin' her around, she ain't never gonna have that."

"It doesn't matter where you go," Andrea said. "Sophia's _always_ gonna have that. She's going to have it in you. In me and Merle. She's always going to have somewhere to go when she needs it. Somewhere where she's...just Soph. I don't plan on going anywhere, but I promise you—even if I go somewhere else? Sophia's always going to have a home to go to."

Daryl shrugged his shoulders.

"Wouldn't hurt for her to have some friends, ya know? Stay here long enough and—maybe she makes some little friends to play with. Maybe she goes to some birthday parties and it's 'cause she wants to and not 'cause I'm draggin' her there 'cause some kid's Ma let me know about the party. Maybe she even has her own birthday party and you two ain't the guests of honor."

Merle laughed.

"You weren't never Mr. Social yourself, brother," Merle said. "If Soph's a loner, I reckon she come by it honest."

"I weren't an asshole like you was," Daryl said.

Merle hummed and shook his head.

"I always had company for ever' damn thing I done," Merle said. "Nah—you was the nice one. The sweetest damn Dixon they ever was. But—you never did have time for nobody. At least—not nobody that planned on hangin' around more'n an hour or two."

Merle winked his eye at Daryl, but Daryl ignored him. He blew his brother off with a scoff and Andrea laughed.

"He's not lying," Andrea said. "It took you a year to warm up to me to the point that I didn't think you were making bets on how long I'd last. Sophia's the only person I've ever known you to get attached to. And that's an entirely different kind of attachment. You're a good man, Daryl, don't get me wrong. I know you'd give the shirt off your back to a complete stranger just on their word that the one they were wearing was on loan...but you don't _bond_. It doesn't stick."

Daryl huffed. He wasn't irritated with them. They weren't exactly wrong, after all, and he knew it.

"Ain't too many people worth stickin' too," Daryl said. "Still, that ain't what I want for Sophia. I want her to have—people in her life. I want her to have friends. Do the things that kids do."

"Just don't push too hard," Andrea warned. "And don't be too disappointed if the streak of Dixon runs too deep in her to allow for that, OK? There's nothing wrong with Sophia. She just knows what she likes and she knows...she knows who treats her the way she wants to be treated. She knows who's worth her time. And there are worse ways she could be."

"You right," Daryl said. "Still—I'm anxious to get us settled again. But for good this time. Make Sophia a home she can be comfortable in."

Merle laughed and tapped the table with his fingertip before he picked up his empty coffee mug that he'd been carrying around since just after dinner and stood up—signaling what he considered to be the end of their round-table discussion.

"You done that already, lil' brother," Merle said. "Don't'cha worry 'bout that. Sophia knows where her home is—even if you ain't got no house yet. An' she knows damn good an' well who her family is and who the hell she belongs with."


	3. Chapter 3

**AN: Here we are, another chapter for this one.**

 **I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

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The house had been everything that Andrea had promised it would be. It was plenty big enough for Daryl and Sophia. It was in a good neighborhood and they would have neighbors when the other houses surrounding it sold—something that Daryl liked because it meant that there was an opportunity for other children to be close by that Sophia might want to play with. Neighbors also meant there would be a certain element of safety. The back yard to the little house was fenced in and it was, as Merle had said, large enough for a dog to run in—which was something Daryl knew that Sophia wanted and something he'd been considering letting her have.

In addition to being located in a good neighborhood, the house was far enough away from his brother's home that Daryl wouldn't feel the pressure to drop by every evening—and he wouldn't feel concerned that his brother might drop by constantly—but it was close enough that having dinner with his brother and sister-in-law wouldn't be a hassle and wouldn't require a special occasion to merit the trip. It would also be comforting to know that Sophia, especially as she got older, had her aunt and uncle close by. In ten minutes, Daryl could be at Merle's house. That meant, if Sophia needed Merle or Andrea, they were only ten minutes away.

All in all, Daryl had found no downside to the little house and he hadn't hesitated to put in his offer on the house. Much as he'd been led to expect, the offer had been accepted immediately.

Daryl's new job looked like it would be just about right for him as well. The shop was a small enough shop that he wouldn't be fighting for repair hours, but it was large enough to mean that he wasn't going to be responsible for every mess that passed through the doors. His portfolio and a quick conversation with the boss had landed him the position he wanted, especially since he came highly recommended from his previous job. A little explanation of his position as the father of a young girl, especially with no mother present, had also earned Daryl a little bit of sympathy from his new employer. It was just enough sympathy that he gave Daryl the day off, long before he'd actually earned it, to move their belongings into their new home and, more generously than that, he'd given several of the other employees a couple of hours off to help Daryl.

Everything was off the rented trailer and inside the house. There were boxes everywhere, and it would take days to sort everything out, but the furniture was in place and Daryl could visualize himself and Sophia making the house a home.

Since Daryl hadn't been there long enough to know anyone who could watch Sophia, Andrea had taken the girl with her to her office for the day, promising that it wouldn't be a problem and she was sure that she could find plenty to entertain Sophia. Finding himself free for a few hours, Daryl took the trailer to the nearest location that would accept it, and he returned it. Then he went directly to the grocery store and started to fill the cart up with everything they'd need to make the pantry and cabinets look a little less bare.

Daryl usually tried to limit Sophia's "treats" because the girl was like any other child in the world. Given the opportunity, she'd eat her way through junk food like it was the end of days, and then she was far less inclined to give even the slightest bit of attention to her vegetables.

But this was a special occasion, so Daryl bought a few more treats than he normally would to welcome Sophia home when she looked in the pantry for the first time.

Knowing that he wasn't in a scramble to be somewhere in a matter of minutes, Daryl took his time going down each of the aisles in the supermarket. Instead of working from a quickly jotted list on a napkin or a scrap of paper, as he usually did, Daryl took his time looking at the things available for purchase and thinking about things that might interest him to try—or might interest Sophia to try.

The supermarket nearest their house was small and it wasn't too crowded. The environment lent itself to taking time and shopping at a leisurely pace. While Daryl shopped, he took the time to nod at the people who were also buying their groceries at that hour—mostly older people and women he assumed to be housewives on a mission to stock their kitchens while the kids were at school—and he thought about the fact that these were his new neighbors. They were the people that he'd be seeing when he took Sophia out for a meal somewhere. Maybe they were the people whose cars he'd be fixing. Some of them he'd never see again, but others he might end up finding that he knew quite well before too long.

Standing in the cereal aisle of the grocery store, Daryl held two boxes of cereal in his hands and rested a third in the child seat of the cart. Carefully he weighed the pros and cons of each type of cereal. His goal was to find something that Sophia would eat but, at the same time, he wanted it to come with less than her daily allowance of sugar. When someone else that was shopping bumped him, Daryl muttered an apology for having his cart in their way. The person, at the same time, gave him their own apology for having collided with him, but by that time they were clear of him and his cart.

Daryl felt the presence of the person behind him, who must have been making a selection of coffee or tea, while he continued to examine cereal boxes. He glanced up only when he heard them start to walk off, the cart rattling slightly as the contents inside it shifted.

Daryl let his eyes follow the woman as she reached the end of the aisle. From behind, she was nothing to write home about, but she wasn't bad either. She was simply a typical woman—the wholesome kind of woman that Daryl expected to see in such a supermarket. At the end of the aisle, the woman turned her cart to continue on to another aisle. She paused a moment and turned back—checking something else on a shelf—and Daryl's heart leapt into his throat.

He watched the woman, unable to utter a sound, and quickly turned his head away when she glanced back in his direction. He didn't want her to know he was staring at her. He didn't want her to think he was some kind of creep. After all, if it was false, information like that travelled quickly. She finished on the aisle and continued on with her shopping while Daryl stood with the cereal boxes in hand, already having forgotten what he'd thought about each of them.

Daryl felt a little shook, but it wasn't the first time that he'd felt that way. It wasn't the first time that he'd practically seen a "ghost" in a supermarket aisle.

In fact, that particular ghost was one that he saw _everywhere._

 _Carol._

Daryl hadn't seen her in eight years. He'd only seen her four or so times, that he could recall, before the very last time she walked out of his life. But he'd spent a lot of his energy studying her in the short amount of time that they'd spent together, until he almost felt like he'd memorized her face. He'd memorized everything about her—her face, her hair, her body, the way that she moved.

Before Sophia had even appeared on his doorstep, Daryl had felt like he'd seen her places. He'd catch a glimpse of her out of his eye. He'd see her driving on the road, in the opposite lane, but when he turned to examine the woman that he thought was her, it was just some woman who bore a slight resemblance to her.

The "sightings," as he'd come to think of them, were even more frequent once Sophia had come into his life. Daryl chocked it up to the fact that he spent a lot of time studying his daughter's features and he'd found a million ways that she reminded him of her mother—even though she hadn't seen Carol beyond her second day of life.

Daryl still saw Carol frequently. At least, his mind saw her. He still saw her in cars that he met. He saw her in restaurants and movie theaters. He saw her in the grocery store and at the fair when he took Sophia to ride the rides and play carnival games. Any time that he was in a crowd, Daryl saw Carol.

Moving hadn't changed a thing. No matter where he'd moved, he'd still seen her. It had gotten to the point that he'd come to consider her as nothing more than a "ghost". She was a phantom. Every time he saw her, it took only a little investigation to learn that he'd seen nothing but a woman who shared some small set of features with Carol.

The woman who had steered her cart down the main aisle of the supermarket—the woman who had purchased coffee or tea and who had stopped to look at some kind of cookie—wasn't Carol. If Daryl followed her, he knew that he would see that. He'd find that she was just a woman who had shared some of Carol's ways of moving her body. He'd find that she had shared a similar curve to her face. But she wasn't Carol. Daryl didn't know where Carol was, but she wasn't in Lennon, Georgia.

The problem, of course, was that Carol was always going to be a part of Daryl's life. Even though she wasn't there—and she'd never physically been there—she was a part of Sophia's life too. The girl had shown an early curiosity about her mother. As a way of trying to "help," Daryl had told her stories about her mother—everything he knew, which was relatively little—to try to make the woman more "real" to his daughter. As a result of his early efforts, Sophia had created her own version of Carol as an imaginary friend when she'd been about five. For a while, the imaginary Carol had been part of everything. She'd played with Sophia, eaten with them, gone places with them, and joined them for story time. Now she appeared less and less, but every now and again, Sophia seemed to dust her off and bring her back from the corners of her imagination.

And it seemed that his daughter wasn't much different than he was, since Daryl seemed to also have the woman as some kind of imaginary friend who appeared, every now and again, to remind him of her presence in the world as though he might somehow forget it.

Carol had never really been a part of Daryl's life and, once she'd given life itself to Sophia, she hadn't been a part of Sophia's life. Physically, Carol wasn't present at all.

But she was there. In her own way, she was there. And she was always there, at least for Daryl.

Daryl decided not to pursue the poor woman who temporarily embodied the ghost of Carol. Under normal circumstances, he might have somewhat "tracked her" through the store to get a better look at her, but he stopped himself. He knew that she wasn't Carol. He knew that Carol wasn't in Lennon. She was somewhere else entirely. Carol wasn't buying coffee or tea on the same aisle where Daryl was spending far too long searching for cereal for their daughter's breakfast.

So he left it alone. He chose a cereal that Sophia would like, and then he finished up his shopping. He told himself that he wasn't going to look for Carol anymore, and he wasn't going to listen to his mind when it decided to play tricks on him and tell him that every checkout line at every store was somehow the line that Carol chose to be in at exactly the same moment that Daryl needed to buy something.

He told himself that he simply wasn't going listen to his mind any longer. He was letting her go—wholly and completely.

But even his best intentions didn't stop him from scanning the parking lot while he loaded his groceries into the truck, returned the cart, and slowly pulled out to head for his new home.


	4. Chapter 4

**AN: Here we go, another chapter here!**

 **I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

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Sophia's birthday party was a success—at least as far as birthday parties ever went for the girl. Sophia got exactly what she wanted. She got a unicorn cake, a bicycle that Daryl promised to teach her how to ride in their neighborhood that was complete with purple streamers, and she got a special "Sophia dinner" at Merle and Andrea's house that consisted of burgers, fries, and all the cake and ice cream she could eat without vomiting.

Slowly, Daryl got their boxes unpacked, bought curtains for their little home, and turned the place into something that looked lived in. It didn't take long before he and Sophia managed to make it feel every bit as welcoming to them as they had anywhere else they'd ever lived. Daryl figured that he and Sophia could do well just about anywhere. As long as they were together, and they managed not to lose Sophia's unicorn "Nico" or her nightlight, they could scrape out a life anywhere.

When school started back, Daryl took Sophia on the day they advertised having something of an "open house". It was an opportunity for the children to meet their teachers before they entered the classroom and it was an opportunity, too, for the parents to check out where their kids would be going to school. Daryl walked with Sophia down the hallway toward her third grade classroom. She held his hand the whole way, not yet embarrassed to be seen in public with her father.

"This is it, Soph," Daryl said. "Ms. Greene. You in here."

Daryl moved the hand that was holding onto Sophia's so that he could somewhat guide her through the door. The teacher, Ms. Greene he supposed, was talking to another set of parents who hadn't brought their kid with them. Daryl stood with Sophia against the wall and waited for her to be done while he took in the classroom. It was neat and organized. Everything was brightly colored and miniaturized so that Sophia and her classmates could be comfortable in a world that was just the right size for them. Along the wall where Daryl stood there were cubbies, and when he leaned forward he could see that each cubby had a name on it. Each hook on the row of hooks on the back wall also had a name. Daryl leaned down to Sophia and spoke to her quietly so as to not interrupt the conversation that Ms. Greene was having with the other parents.

"Go over there, Soph," Daryl said, pointing to the hooks. "Find ya hook."

Sophia nodded her acceptance of this plan and let go of Daryl's hand to walk toward the hooks. She walked up and down the row of them until she found her name. She put her finger on it and then turned to smile at Daryl.

Ownership was important to Sophia—and Daryl assumed it was to most kids her age—even if it was just a hook in a wall.

Daryl nodded his head to let Sophia know that he saw her discovery and he missed, somehow, seeing the other parents leave the room. He jumped when he heard the woman that would be Sophia's teacher call out to get his attention.

"Excuse me?" She asked again. Daryl smiled at her, a little embarrassed that he'd jumped. "I didn't mean to startle you. I'm Maggie Greene. You are?"

Daryl offered a hand out to the woman and Sophia quickly came to stand at his side.

"Daryl Dixon," Daryl said. "This here's Sophia Dixon. She's—she's gonna be in your class startin' Monday."

Ms. Greene smiled at the both of them and nodded her head.

"You're new to Lennon," Ms. Greene said.

"We that well known already?" Daryl asked, laughing to himself. He hated this part of being a father. He hated the awkward conversations had with teachers.

He hated awkward conversations in general.

"Lennon looks like a big town," Ms. Greene said, "but don't let it fool you. Until the factory came to town about six years ago, it was just a small place. It retains a lot of that... _charm_. When someone new moves to town, it doesn't usually take too long for word to travel."

Daryl nodded his understanding and Ms. Greene smiled at Sophia then.

"I see you found your hook," she said. "Can you find your cubby?"

Sophia nodded and went directly to the cubbies and found hers. She'd already figured out, apparently, that there was a system to the naming. Either that, or she'd spotted her name from the short distance away.

"I haven't heard much about you," Ms. Greene said. "So I don't want to scare you that I have or anything. I just knew that you moved into town because someone told me you bought one of the houses in Tyreese's new housing development."

"You know him?" Daryl asked.

"Everybody does," Ms. Greene said.

"His wife and my sister-in-law work at the same law firm," Daryl said. "She's new to town too. My sister-in-law, I mean. Her and my brother."

"And your wife?" Ms. Greene asked.

Daryl swallowed. She cut right to the chase. Most people didn't take too long to get there. He glanced at Sophia, but she was busy examining the baskets that were lined up on what he could only presume was an "art" table of sorts. Daryl shook his head gently at the woman.

"Don't have one," Daryl said. "Never did. If you—don't mind? It don't bother...my daughter," Daryl lowered his voice, not wanting to catch Sophia's attention, "that she don't...ya know...but I'ma ask you don't make no big deal out of it if you can avoid it."

Ms. Greene's smile faded for a second but quickly returned. She nodded her head.

"Absolutely," she said. "I understand. Single parent. It's admirable."

"It's what'cha do," Daryl said. "Nothin' more'n that."

"It's more than that," Ms. Greene said, as though she were trying to reassure him. He didn't need it. Then she turned her attention to Sophia. "Do you like art, Sophia?" She asked.

Sophia looked at her and then looked at Daryl. Daryl nodded his head at Sophia in case she was seeking permission to speak.

"I like drawing," Sophia said. "And painting. And coloring."

"Do you like reading and math, too?" Ms. Greene asked.

"I like to read," Sophia said, still eyeing Daryl. She didn't care for awkward conversations either.

"She's been readin' above her grade level for...well, forever, really," Daryl said.

Ms. Greene offered him a smile.

"You read with her a lot?" She asked.

Daryl nodded.

"She won't go to sleep without it," Daryl said.

"Math?" Ms. Greene asked.

"She does good at everything," Daryl said. "But...uh..."

He hesitated and Ms. Greene seemed to realize that he wanted to talk to her, but he didn't want to talk to her in Sophia's presence. She nodded at him and quickly offered Sophia some books to look at before she excused herself by telling Sophia they'd be right back and there was something else she wanted to show him—something Sophia wouldn't find half as interesting as she would the few books that Ms. Greene had given her to read in the "reading corner" that was complete with an oversized beanbag chair. Daryl followed the woman into the hallway and she closed the door behind them.

"Is there something wrong?" She asked, the artificial smile falling from her face to show genuine concern.

"She don't make friends real good," Daryl said. "She's good at school. She actually likes doin' her homework. It's something that I can't understand because it sure weren't never my thing, but Sophia likes it. And it's not that she don't like other kids. I mean, she shares good enough and she don't get in trouble and she don't fight with nobody but...she don't make friends."

Ms. Greene laughed to herself.

"And you're worried about it?" She asked.

"If she don't got no friends, I'm a lil' worried about it," Daryl said. "Worried I'm the one what done it to her since—I couldn't never be accused of bein' popular myself."

"Why not?" Ms. Greene asked.

"What?" Daryl asked.

"Why would you say you weren't popular?" Ms. Greene asked. "Why don't you seek out more acquaintances?"

Daryl shrugged his shoulders.

"Just don't...interest me," Daryl said.

"Then maybe it doesn't interest Sophia either," Ms. Greene said. "As long as she's not getting into any trouble? I'd say—it's nothing to worry about. Is she sad because she doesn't have friends? Does she...act like it bothers her?"

"No," Daryl admitted. "She'd rather have a dog than a friend."

Ms. Greene laughed.

"Sometimes they make better companions," she said. "I wouldn't worry about Sophia. Not unless it starts to bother her. But—I'll keep an eye on things."

"Thanks," Daryl said, offering her a smile.

She sucked in a breath and then she raised her eyebrows at Daryl.

"I know it could be inappropriate but...if you're ever looking for a friend? Or looking for someone to show you around Lennon? It can be hard to meet people here. Let me know. I might know some people that you might enjoy meeting."

Daryl swallowed.

He wasn't sure if the woman was flirting with him or if she was simply offering to introduce him to people. He'd never been that great at reading women. He could read another man in a matter of minutes, but he wasn't that great at deciphering women's intentions. The only ones he could read were the ones that were pretty much straightforward and upfront with what they were thinking. Still, he didn't want to offend the woman, especially since she was Sophia's teacher, and he wasn't insulted by her offer—even if he wasn't likely to take her up on it either way.

"Thanks," Daryl said. "But—like I said...I don't tend to be too much for people neither."

Ms. Greene nodded her head.

"I understand," she said. "But the offer still stands. Come on...you can help Sophia fill out her "Getting to Know Me" sheet for the first day."

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Daryl got to the shop about the time that most of the men were knocked off for lunch. He nodded his head as he passed through and went directly to the back office where Merle was eating a sandwich in the presence of another of the workers—both of them sitting at the desk where they entered information into the slightly outdated desktop.

When Daryl walked in, the other worker—Woody—got up and excused himself. Daryl took his seat and sat across the desk from his brother.

"I miss much?" Daryl asked.

"Damn place 'bout fell apart without'cha, lil' brother," Merle mused. He laughed around his sandwich. "You eat?"

"Grabbed something with Soph before I dropped her off with Andrea," Daryl said. "I gotta find somewhere for her to stay, though, after school. I can't expect Andrea to be gettin' her work done an' runnin' a damn daycare."

"Bring her up here," Merle said. "She'll be alright a couple days. 'Til you find somethin' better."

"And Warner?" Daryl asked, referencing their boss. The man owned the shop. He also owned several other small businesses in the area. "How's he gonna feel about that?"

"He ain't gonna give a shit," Merle said. "Besides—long as Harland clears it, he's really the one that says what goes on around here. Warner don't give a shit long as we turnin' a profit. An' you always turn a profit, lil' brother."

Daryl sighed.

"A couple days won't hurt," Daryl said. "I'll just take my lunch hour when she's gettin' offa school and I can bring her here. But I'ma find a real place where she can go 'fore long."

"I'll ask Andrea to start askin' around," Merle said. "Come here...you gotta see the damn beauty that got brought in while you was out. It's on your list."

Merle finished his lunch and cleaned up the area where he'd been eating. He brought his drink with him and lit a cigarette once they'd stepped out into the shop. Daryl followed him outside to the car that was parked and waiting for him. He walked around it a couple of times.

"Who done the estimate?" Daryl asked.

"I did since you weren't here," Merle said. "Man said he don't give a shit if the parts are new. He just wants it done cheap as it can get done. Said it's his wife's car."

"She drive into a damn semi?" Daryl asked. "Damn near crumpled the front end. Not that it'd take much in this car."

Merle chuckled.

"Said she hit one of them barricades they got up on the New Town Road. Where they pavin' the road? Changin' the lanes and got half the damn thing blocked off. She hit one of them concrete barricades."

Daryl continued to examine the car.

"Hell—reckon she's alive. Looks like it took a pretty good hit, but she weren't goin' too damn fast. Didn't even deploy the airbags," Daryl mused.

"I looked it over pretty good," Merle said. "Don't look too bad really. Thing's still runnin'. She ain't hit it hard. Don't know what happened, though. Not to hit like she done. Woulda thought them kinda barricades she'da sideswiped the thing. But you see the damage is concentrated here in front. Like she was tryin' to hit it."

"Leave your ass alone a couple hours an' now you a detective?" Daryl asked.

Merle laughed and shook his head.

"Her old man's a real piece of work," Merle said. "That's all the hell I'ma say about that. I don't know that I wouldn'ta run into a concrete wall if I was her, just to get the fuck away from the son of a bitch."

"He's gotta be a real peach to have you so deep in love with him after you spend...what? Thirty minutes with him?" Daryl responded.

"Forty five," Merle said. "Took me thirty minutes to process the repair. Write the estimate. Took him fifteen to spit an' cuss an' tell me how the hell he handled her ass for doin' somethin' so damn dumb as to get in a wreck."

Daryl cringed and frowned at his brother. Merle nodded his head. They heard just about everything working in a shop. People believed everything they'd ever seen on television and had most of them pegged as veritable outlaws that fixed cars by day and murdered women and children by night—when they were sober enough to find their way out of a bar. To every stereotype, of course, there was an element of truth, but Hollywood had been more than unfair at times.

"That loud about it?" Daryl asked.

"Hell, he was braggin'," Merle said. He shook his head. "Asked me if I was married an' soon as I said I was? Hell we was best damn friends 'cause sure as shit I'd know what he was talkin' about. Nothin' like layin' into your old lady 'cause she done somethin' like be human and fuck up."

Daryl laughed to himself.

"You tell him that your wife'd hang your nuts from the doorframe like mistletoe if you was to lay a hand on her?" Daryl asked.

"Didn't say shit," Merle said. "Was concentratin' too damn hard on the fact I like this job an' I ain't fond of the idea of goin' to prison and gettin' me a new kinda wife there just 'cause I beat this stupid ass son of a bitch to death for jackin' his jaws about his own lil' woman."

Daryl blew out his breath and nodded his head at Merle.

"I'll fix the car," Daryl said. "You give him a time frame?"

"Said you'd call him with that, lil' brother," Merle responded. "Fuck if I was dealin' with him any longer'n I had to."

"Well ain't you a peach," Daryl mused. "Fine—I'll make some calls about some parts. Then I'll call the son of a bitch back."

Merle laughed to himself.

"His information's in the office," Merle said. "Just remember—Soph needs your ass on the outside."

Daryl nodded his understanding at his brother.

"He sure won't be the first asshole that I've ever had the joy of dealing with. And he won't be the last, neither."


	5. Chapter 5

**AN: Here we go, another chapter here.**

 **I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

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Daryl let Sophia watch television while he finished up the dishes and restored some order to the kitchen that was lost every time he cooked a meal. When he was done, though, and declared the kitchen "closed" for the night, he came into the living room and switched off the television to be sure that he had his daughter's full attention.

He'd dealt with the asshole that had brought the car in over the phone. He'd tried to block most of the information about the man out of his mind. He knew he was named Ed and he knew that he worked at a company in town. Daryl didn't know much else beyond than that and he didn't really care to know more. He'd tried to pass the car off to someone else, but he'd ended up with it. It was his project. When he'd called the man to give him an estimate on how long it would take him to get the parts and finish the job, Ed had tried to explain to him once more what had happened—how his dumbass wife had hit the barriers. In a matter of minutes he'd already asked Daryl if he was married, and when Daryl had responded that he wasn't, the man told him he was better for it before he launched into a speech about how the woman he was married to had done nothing but make his existence miserable since they'd met. When he'd started to recount how he'd taken care of the situation, Daryl had simply cut him off and told him that his job was to fix cars. It wasn't any of his business how they came to be damaged in the first place. It wouldn't make his job any easier to know the details beyond what he could discern for himself.

After dealing with the man, though, there were things that were hanging heavy on his mind, and he knew by now that if he didn't address them, they would just continue to plague him until he couldn't sort them out one way or another.

"What happened?!" Sophia barked as soon as the screen went black. She found her way to sitting on the floor from her original position of lying there. Her head jerked back in Daryl's direction.

"I turned it off," Daryl said.

"But Daddy, that was the good part," Sophia whined.

"They're all the good parts," Daryl said. "An' you got that one on DVD. You'll see it again. Come here, Soph. I gotta talk to you." Sophia frowned at him deeply. Her frown was much deeper than cutting short some television watching should cause. Daryl realized that the words "gotta talk" were equally terrifying to every human being, no matter their age, and he amended them. He shook his head at her. "You ain't done nothin' wrong, OK? It ain't about that. Just—come here?"

He held his arms out in her direction and Sophia crawled across the floor until she was ready to get up and come to him. He pulled her into his lap and she leaned her head against his chest.

"You're mad?" She asked.

Daryl laughed to himself.

"I ain't mad," he said. "Unless you know somethin' I oughta be mad about."

"I really didn't mean to knock that cup over at Aunt Andrea's office," Sophia said. "Honest it was an accident."

Daryl bit his lip. His sister-in-law hadn't told him anything about it—whatever it was—but it was clearly bothering his daughter a little.

"You mean you spilled somethin'?" Daryl asked.

"On her desk," Sophia said. "I'm sorry, though! I told her I was. Honest I didn't do it on purpose!"

Daryl squeezed Sophia against him in a hug.

"She fuss at'cha?" Daryl asked.

Sophia shook her head.

"She was mad about it gettin' on somethin'," Sophia said. "And she told me to eat at the little table in the room with the couches and the television."

Daryl laughed.

"She ain't mad then," Daryl said. "She ain't even told me about it. Your Aunt Andrea knows good as I do that spillin' something? It happens to all of us. But it's prob'ly a good idea you don't eat at her desk no more. You don't eat at nobody's desk, OK?" Sophia nodded her head and voiced her acceptance of this plan. Daryl pushed her up a little and turned her so that she was sitting on his lap still, but he could see her face. "What I got to talk to you about ain't that at all, Soph. But—it's kinda about people gettin' mad."

"Who's mad?" Sophia asked.

"Nobody's mad," Daryl said. "But sometimes people get mad, don't they? You get mad. I get mad. Truth is...everybody gets mad sometimes, Soph."

"I know that," Sophia said.

"I know you do," Daryl said. "But I'm just sayin' it happens. And it's gonna happen. Gonna be a lotta times in your life that you get mad or...I get mad...or someone else gets mad." A little wide-eyed, Sophia nodded her understanding. "Gettin' mad's OK. And sometimes...when we get mad? We say some things that we don't mean and...we..."

"Say the bad words that I'm not allowed to say?" Sophia asked, raising her eyebrows at Daryl.

"Your Aunt Andrea?" Daryl asked.

Sophia nodded her head and Daryl laughed to himself.

"Let her off the hook. Same as you let me an' Merle off. She's usually pretty good about it," Daryl said. "Lot better'n me or your Uncle Merle. But—it happens to her too." He nodded his head. "But, yeah, sometimes we say them words. Sometimes we even say words that hurt a lot more'n those. We say things we don't even mean to say. Sorry for 'em later. Sometimes we regret 'em and we try to make 'em up to each other, even if we can't take 'em back. But—there's some people do things that's even worse than sayin' words to each other. They's some people who think it's...they think it's alright to hit each other. And sometimes? If someone's a whole lot bigger or stronger than someone else? It ain't so much that they hittin' each other as they just...one person's just always hittin' on the other one."

"We're not supposed to hit," Sophia said. "Unless you're Uncle Merle and Aunt Andrea because they hit and it don't matter."

Daryl shook his head at Sophia, knowing exactly what she was referring to.

"Them playin' around?" Daryl said. "Soph that ain't hittin'. Not for real. When they laughin' an' cuttin' up—like they fightin' with each other but ain't nobody mad? It ain't real. It's just a game. They ain't really hittin' each other. Nobody gets hurt. Fakin' each other out like—like when Uncle Merle pretends to steal your nose but he ain't really pulled your nose off. When they laughin' like that? It's just a game. They don't really hit. Your Uncle Merle wouldn't never...and I don't think your Aunt Andrea would neither. They don't hit when they're mad. Just like you an' me don't hit when we're mad."

"You pop me one," Sophia offered.

"That's a spankin'," Daryl said. "An' I ain't never hit you hard an' I ain't never hit you nowhere but on your butt. And you can't say you didn't get more'n enough warnin' it was comin' to stop." He sighed. "I'm talkin' about really hitting, Sophia. Like—punchin' each other. Slappin' each other. I'm talkin' about trying to hurt someone. Wantin' to see 'em get hurt. Wantin' to see 'em bleed."

Sophia's frown, which had dissipated when she'd realized she wasn't in trouble returned.

"They shouldn't do that. That's not very nice, Daddy," Sophia offered.

"No," Daryl agreed. "It ain't very nice. But there's some people out there and...and they're just...well there ain't nothin' else to call 'em, Soph, but they're assholes. They just do things like that because they don't care about nobody else but themselves and they don't know nothin' but their anger."

"Why?" Sophia asked, furrowing her brows at Daryl. He shook his head at her.

"I don't know," Daryl said. "I don't—I can't understand everything everybody does, Soph. Maybe they don't even know. But—the reason I wanted to tell you that is 'cause I wanted you to know there's people like that and—it ain't OK that they're like that. And sometimes? They say things like—it's the person's fault. The one they're hittin' on. It's their fault that they gotta—it's they're fault they do what they do. But it ain't their fault. It ain't never their fault. Just like you an' me...an' Andrea and Merle? Just like we don't gotta hit just 'cause we're angry, they don't gotta hit either. They just do it 'cause that's what they wanna do and then they say it's somebody else's fault that they done it. But it ain't. It ain't nobody's fault but their own. You understand what I'm sayin' to you?"

Sophia looked at him like she clearly _didn't_ understand what he was saying, but she was willing to try. She nodded her head at him, but she didn't offer him a verbal response. Daryl sighed. He realized it could be difficult to understand. He was an adult—an adult who been somebody's punching bag and, because of that, he was an adult who had never sat with his father at Sophia's age and calmly discussed a single damn thing—and he still didn't understand it all entirely.

"If anybody ever does that to you, Sophia?" Daryl said. "If anybody ever—thinks they can get mad and hit on you? Disrespect you like that? I want you to tell me about it, OK? And don't you listen to them if they try tellin' you that it's your fault or that I'm gonna be pissed at you, OK? Because...I won't never be mad at you if you tell me they're doing it, but I'll be mad if you don't tell me. If you don't let me help you. OK?"

"Nobody's doing anything," Sophia said, quite sincerely. Daryl laughed to himself.

"I know they aren't now," Daryl said. "And—I weren't really talkin' about right away. I mean—I don't care when it is, I want you to tell me, but I was just sayin' it just so you know it, OK? You're a lady, Soph. You're a lil' girl right now, but you're gonna grow up into a lady. And they ain't nobody got the right to disrespect you or lay their hands on you in a way that you don't want 'em doing. I wouldn't never allow nobody to treat you like that and so neither should you. But if they think they can? No matter how big you get, Soph, I mean it that you gotta tell me. You tell me what they're doin' and I promise you I won't get mad at you. And I promise you that...I'ma get control of them. I'ma help you and I'ma make sure they don't keep on thinking they can do it. You understand?"

"I understand," Sophia said.

"You promise you'll tell me? No matter what? Even if you don't think you should or they tell you that'cha shouldn't?" Daryl asked.

Sophia shrugged her shoulders and nodded her head.

"I think so," Sophia said.

Daryl laughed to himself. Of course she couldn't tell him much more than that. It wasn't something that was concrete for her. It was even less than a hypothetical situation. Still, Daryl hoped it would be enough to stick with her in case she ever did need to know that he'd help her handle something that needed to be handled.

"You OK, Daddy?" Sophia asked.

"I'm fine, Soph," Daryl assured her. "You OK?"

"I'm OK," Sophia said. "And there ain't nobody that's bothering me." Daryl nodded his understanding. "Is there anybody that's bothering you?" Sophia asked, putting on her best concerned face. "Because you can tell me too, Daddy."

Daryl laughed and shook his head.

"No, Soph," he assured her. "There ain't nobody that's botherin' me neither. I just—want'cha to know, ya know? That you deserve for people to treat you right. And that you can...well, Soph, I'm your old man. You can tell me anything. No matter how old you get."

Sophia smiled at him.

"I know that, silly," Sophia said, using his own "name" for her against him.

"Alright, silly," Daryl teased. "Now that'cha know it, how about you get'cha butt up from here and go get a bath?"

"You'll get me a story?" Sophia asked.

"Which one you want?" Daryl asked.

"The new book," Sophia said. "The _big_ one."

"You want a chapter outta your new one?" Daryl asked.

Sophia smiled at him and raised her eyebrows, wagging them at him.

"I want the whole thing," Sophia said.

Daryl snorted.

"And you gettin' a chapter," he responded. "Maybe two—depends on how long they are. Up—go get a bath. I'll get'cha book ready."

Sophia wriggled off his lap and Daryl reached out, catching her arm as she started to run off from him to do what he'd asked. She stopped abruptly on her heels and turned around, searching his face out to see what he might want to add to everything that had already been said. Daryl pulled her to him and she came quickly. He kissed the side of her face and when he let go of her, she quickly returned and kissed the side of his in kind.

"I love you, Daddy," Sophia offered.

"Love you too," Daryl responded. "More'n you ever gonna know. Go. Get'cha bath. I'm comin' directly."


	6. Chapter 6

**AN: Here we go, another chapter here.**

 **I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

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More people shouted around the shop than would probably be expected in most businesses. Sometimes people shouted because machines were loud and they were trying to talk over them. The main reason that people shouted, though, was because they were riled up about their vehicles. Most people that came through didn't understand what a deductible was and they were more than pissed to find out that the deductible they'd chosen when they'd bought insurance was money that they were going to have to pay out of pocket. More than once, Daryl had seen a customer act like they intended to come to blows with someone over the fact that they didn't have a thousand dollars to hand over and they'd been living under some magical impression that the insurance company was going to produce the money for them.

Daryl was so accustomed to the occasional "customer gone wild," that he rarely paid the shouting any attention unless it was happening just in front of his face. But every now and again, for some reason, it got his attention.

Daryl was sitting on the floor in the shop with his back against the wall. He was in a far corner and tucked mostly out of sight. It was the only place where their boss wouldn't ride them for smoking because most customers never drifted in that deep—they had no reason to. He still had ten minutes on his break and, if the truth was told, he still had a break from earlier that he could cash in on if he wanted because he'd been too wrapped up in what he was doing to bother with resting.

They had two cars going out that day. Both of them had been washed already and they'd been pulled around for the customers to pick up. Daryl knew that one of them had left the lot already, but it sounded like the other was getting ready to head home and someone wasn't happy about something.

The shouts that Daryl heard were coming from a woman.

 _"You don't understand!"_

The responses, only slightly calmer in tone, were coming from his brother.

"It's you that don't seem to understand," Merle responded.

The rest of it trailed off, buried by the sounds of everything happening around Daryl. When he finished his cigarette, Daryl got to his feet and snubbed the cigarette out before he flicked it into the trash can. He figured he'd go see what was causing Merle trouble. He thought he might be able to smooth things over. Sometimes he was better with people than Merle was. He wiped his hands on his pants and started back across the shop. He almost ran into Merle as his brother stomped out of the office like a bull on a mission to get across his field before someone else did. Daryl laughed at him when the near-collision stopped him.

"Where the hell's the fire?" Daryl asked.

"Come lookin' for information," Merle said. "Just how damn long it's gonna be 'fore you get that car done?"

"Which one, brother?" Daryl asked. "Got three on the list."

"That Ed fella's car," Merle said.

Daryl shrugged his shoulders.

"Told you," Daryl said. "Don't got the parts. Wednesday's the earliest I'ma have it done. He said they ain't no rush."

"To him they ain't," Merle said. "But I got a woman out there just come up in one a' them dangerous ass lookin' cabs. Got a damn bag with her and a face looks like ground fuckin' round. Talkin' 'bout she's gotta have the car an' she's gotta have it now."

Daryl laughed.

"Even if the insurance had come through an' she was carryin' the cash," Daryl said. "The car ain't been put back together since we broke down the front end. It ain't goin' nowhere right now."

Merle frowned at Daryl.

"Looks like a runner," Merle said. "She's got a damn suitcase. I ain't believin' for a half a second we just caught her ass on her way to a vacation."

Daryl sucked in a breath and let it out.

He and Merle had grown up with an asshole for a father. They'd grown up believing that everything they'd ever done was so damn wrong that their old man had no choice but to beat them senseless for breathing. They'd grown up, both of them, swearing that they'd kill the old man—but nature took care of that before either of them got around to it.

And with him gone? They weren't the leading characters of inspirational movies on the sappy cable channels, but they hadn't done half bad with their lives. At least neither one of them had ended up in jail and they were both somewhat holding together their incomplete families.

They'd taken an oath with each other, over a bottle of whiskey the night they got the news the old man was dead, that they'd never end up like him. They'd never end up piss poor and angry drunks. They'd never beat on their wives and they'd never lay a hand on their children—assuming they ever had either. And, if they could, they'd do everything possible to help anyone they knew who was neck deep in the shit that they'd both had to call a childhood.

But usually it was easier to say you'd help than it was to actually do anything that made a difference.

Daryl shook his head at Merle.

"Car ain't ready," Daryl said. "It ain't gonna be ready."

"She's gonna pass the fuck out in the parkin' lot," Merle said. "Damn near ain't breathin' since I told her the car weren't ready."

Daryl nodded his head and started back in the direction that his brother had come from. It didn't take Merle half a second to follow him through the office and out the side door to the parking lot. The woman was standing out there—face looking like ground round, as Merle had said—with an old suitcase beside her on the ground.

But it was Daryl who nearly passed out in the parking lot.

His head swam suddenly and there was an odd pressure behind his forehead. He stopped walking forward abruptly enough that he felt his brother's hand on his back—grounding him in reality—put there to keep them from colliding.

"The hell's wrong?" Merle asked.

Daryl swallowed.

He wasn't sure it was her. He saw her everywhere so commonly that he couldn't be sure it wasn't some kind of hallucination. Her face was messed up. If it was her? There were nine years of hard life between who she was then and who she was now. If it was her? She might not even know him. She might not recognize him. If it was her, she might not want anyone to know who she was.

Daryl wasn't even sure he wanted anyone to know who she was, if it was her.

Daryl shook his head.

"Think I stood up too damn fast," Daryl stammered out, a little ashamed that he couldn't find his words.

Merle chuckled.

"My baby brother—givin' to faintin' spells fifteen damn minutes after everything outta be settled," Merle mused. "You got'cha sea legs yet or you want me to hunt you up some smellin' salts?"

Daryl was thankful for his brother's heckling if only because it helped ground him a little. He shook his head.

"I'm fine, asshole," Daryl said. "No damn thanks to you."

"I didn't let'cha bust your ass," Merle offered.

Daryl crossed the span of asphalt that separated him from the phantom with a suitcase. When she looked at him, he knew her eyes—even if her right one hadn't been quite so bloodshot when he'd seen her last. His chest tightened and his heart pounded. She stared at him for a half a second too long, and then she turned her eyes away and looked at Merle.

If it hadn't been for the half a second, Daryl might have thought it wasn't her. He might have just convinced himself that everybody had a twin—and he'd found hers.

She wasn't Carol's twin. She wasn't a phantom. She wasn't a ghost. She wasn't just something his memory conjured up. She was flesh and blood and she was so close to him that he could touch her if he stretched out a hand—but he didn't.

She _was_ Carol.

He wasn't entirely certain that she knew him. Her expression said that she knew that she _should_ know him—he was familiar, at least—but not necessarily that she'd placed him. She'd accidentally given away the quick registering of shock on her features—the same that Daryl had no likely given away when he'd nearly passed out—but she wasn't addressing it.

And Daryl wasn't either. He had no idea how to go about it. He had no idea what he'd say.

And right this moment, Merle was present and there were other things to address.

"Car ain't gonna be ready 'til Wednesday," Merle said. "Sorry—there ain't nothin' we can do."

"You don't _understand_ ," Carol said, her voice coming out carrying all the desperation she clearly felt. She shook her head at Merle, avoiding looking at Daryl as though he were the ghost and she couldn't see him at all. "I have to have it now. I have to go _now_ while he's _gone_."

Daryl looked at Merle and Merle raised his eyebrows at him. Daryl nodded his head at his brother.

"What'cha mean while he's gone?" Merle asked.

Carol glanced at Daryl. It was only a split second, but Daryl caught her eyes rolling in his direction before she settled them back on Merle.

"My husband," Carol said. "I have to go while he's gone. He's away on business and—he'll be back the day after tomorrow. I have to have the car _now_. It's urgent. It's a matter of...of life and death!"

Daryl felt like it was taking everything he had in him to focus on breathing. He might want to speak, but he wasn't entirely sure that he could find his voice. It had backed down inside of him and it was hiding somewhere. He nodded his head at Merle again, hoping his brother would do all the talking—and that he'd somehow manage to say all the right things.

Merle licked the chapped skin of his lips. His expression changed. Gone was any trace of joviality that he might have been wearing from giving Daryl a hard time.

"You runnin' from him?" Merle asked. "For what he done to you?"

Carol visibly struggled to swallow. The marks at her throat no doubt made it difficult, but the situation made it even harder—Daryl could feel that from where he stood.

"I think you know the answer to that," Carol said. "Or you wouldn't have asked me the question."

"You got reason to believe he's gonna kill you?" Merle asked.

"Eventually he will," Carol said.

Daryl shivered at the certainty in her voice. She probably wasn't wrong. It was, more than likely, a truth she'd come to terms with some time ago.

"If you set to run," Merle said, "doin' it in a car that's in his name ain't the best way to go about it."

"That car is all I've got," Carol said. "It's not even mine and it's...it's still the only thing I've got. It's the only chance I've got to...please, I _have_ to go. I have to go _now_. I _need_ the car."

Somewhere inside of him, Daryl found his voice. It came out, though, sounding not entirely like he remembered it sounding.

"Carol," he said, testing her name out on his tongue. He was able to form the name and she reacted to it, turning her head in his direction. Merle looked at him, furrowing his brows for a fraction of a second, but Daryl realized that he could easily pass off his knowledge of the woman's name as having come from any conversation he'd had with her husband.

Merle had never known who Sophia's mother was. Daryl wasn't sure, yet, if he wanted him to know.

There would be time for that.

Daryl struggled to swallow almost as much as she had. His heart still drummed dangerously fast in his chest.

"If you wanna go? We can help you out," Daryl said. "But—it ain't gonna be in that car. Merle's right. You gonna skip town on him? Leave him? You don't do that shit in a car that's got his name on it. You can't drive that car nowhere—not unless you wanna guarantee he finds you."

Carol shook her head.

"I don't have anything else. I spent most of the money that I had on the cab to get here," she said. " _I. Have. Nothing. Else_."

"But you got somewhere to go?" Merle asked.

"No," Carol said. She was on the verge of breaking down. That much was obvious. "No...I don't have anywhere and I don't have anything."

"Then where were you goin' with the car?"

She shook her head.

"Away," she said. "A shelter? I don't know."

Seeing that she was on the verge of breaking down, and knowing that wasn't going to get them anywhere—but also understanding the urgency of the situation—Daryl swallowed down whatever feelings he might have. He lied to himself, for just a moment, and told himself that she was a ghost again. She was just a ghost—a ghost of a woman who needed his help. A ghost of a woman that he hadn't been able to help before.

"I got it," Daryl said to Merle. "I'll handle it."

"What you mean you'll handle it?" Merle asked.

"I mean...I'll _handle_ it," Daryl said. "Take her somewhere. Get her outta here. Just—tell Harland that I'm takin' the afternoon an' I'll make it up this weekend or something. Gimme an afternoon and I'll take care of it."

Merle chewed his lip like he wasn't sure about it. He looked between Daryl and Carol, but finally he nodded his head.

"You keep your cell on," Merle said. "I got mine."

Daryl knew that Carol wasn't going to hurt him. Even if he didn't know who she was, and she didn't know who he was—which was what Merle thought the case to be—he wasn't afraid of a woman of her stature. The husband was out of town. He was going to give an unknown woman a ride and hopefully find her a safe place to land. That was all that was happening—at least as far as Merle knew.

Daryl nodded his head.

"I'll be home later," Daryl said. "Come by your house for supper?" Merle nodded his acceptance. "You'll—take care of things for me? Everything that—needs lookin' after? Until I get back?" Merle nodded again. Daryl was sure that his brother understood him.

Daryl turned to Carol, his heart skipping a beat until he feared he was having a heart attack and forced himself to cough to regulate its rhythm a little, and he reached a hand out to touch her shoulder. Thinking better of it, he dropped his hand and picked up her bag.

"Come with me," he said. "I'm the—the old red truck over there. We'll figure somethin' out."


	7. Chapter 7

**AN: Here we go, another chapter.**

 **I hope that you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

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The heat of the Georgia summer was starting to fade away a little. It was promising to be a nice fall and maybe a particularly cold winter. It was warm outside, but it wasn't hot. It wasn't the kind of stifling heat that sometimes they could expect from summer—the kind of heat where Daryl usually felt like he was actually melting and turning into a soggy puddle of himself. It wasn't hot. Not like that. But, still, Daryl felt like he couldn't breathe in the truck. He cranked the window down, cracking it just enough that the wind blew in, and hoped it would somehow help him breathe better.

Carol, too, must have felt the stifling heat, because she cranked down her own window to match his.

"Sorry," Daryl said. "Air conditioner's been broke since I got the truck."

"It's fine," Carol said quietly.

Daryl looked at her out of the corner of his eye. He was on the main road headed out of town. A couple of miles and he'd hit the highway that connected Lennon to anywhere worth going. When he reached the highway, he'd have to make a decision. Left toward the county line, or right toward Atlanta? Either direction would take her out of Lennon.

Carol hadn't said anything. She hadn't given him any sign of whether or not she knew him. She hadn't given him any sign of whether or not she _wanted_ to know him. She was just riding in the truck, looking a little like a caged animal that didn't know whether to roll over in hope for mercy or attack in hope of saving itself.

And Daryl didn't know what to say, either. He soothed himself by gnawing at his thumbnail while his elbow rested on the window of the truck.

A million times he'd thought of a dozen different scenarios where he was in the same room with her. He'd thought of everything he'd say to her. He thought of everything he'd ask her. Each time he imagined it, things went a little differently. Sometimes they went well and other times they went terribly. One thing, though, that all of his imaginings had in common was that he was always prepared with something to say. He always had so much to say.

Now, sitting beside her in the truck cab, Daryl found that he had nothing to say. Or, even if it was there, he couldn't manage to get it to come out of his mouth.

"Where are we going?" Carol asked finally, surprising Daryl when she broke the silence that hung as heavy around them as the heat that seemed to have pooled inside the truck.

"Your call," Daryl said.

"I appreciate you doing this," Carol said. "But—I just need to go somewhere for a couple of nights. Just until the car's done. Then...I can decide. I can figure it out."

Daryl sighed. He decided to let the situation that was amplifying the heat for him lie. Carol didn't need to deal with the sins of her past. She needed to guarantee that she was going to live to see her future. She had things on her mind, right now, that would naturally have a way of overtaking her ability to think of anything else.

"You gotta forget about the damn car," Daryl said.

"I can't," Carol said.

"Well, you ain't got no choice," Daryl said. "Day you drove that shit into a concrete barricade was the last damn day that car could do anything for you. If you're serious about gettin' away from him..."

Daryl let it drop. It didn't hang in the air too long, though, before Carol picked it up.

"I am," she said. "I am serious," she repeated. "How'd you know that I drove into the barricade?"

"You hit the front end," Daryl said. "Didn't side swipe it like anybody would on accident. Had to be headed straight for it. You tried to hit it."

"I chickened out," Carol said.

Daryl's stomach lurched and he swallowed back the sensation that rose up in his throat.

"You drove into it," Daryl said. "You hit it sure enough." Carol didn't say anything to him. He supposed he understood her silence every bit as good as he understood her words. He was raising a kid. He knew that silence was every bit, if not more, incriminating than words could ever be. "You mean that'cha meant to hit it harder?"

"I didn't hit it harder," Carol said. "And it doesn't matter. I still need the car. It's all I have."

"Well, now you don't got it," Daryl said. "Listen—you head outta town in a car with his name on it? He'll call the cops. No matter if he reports you—missin' or crazy or...says you stole the car? They're gonna get you and they're gonna haul you in. Then you can plead your case, but..."

"But somehow, I'll be right back where I started," Carol said, finishing where Daryl left off when he fell silent. Daryl hummed at her. "I know," Carol said. "I know. I'll just—end up right back where I started. Only this time, it'll be worse because he'll be pissed. I stole the car and then I left. By now? He's probably called home three or four times. He's starting to—he'll be realizing that I'm not at the store. I'm not—I'm not just out somewhere."

Daryl felt like there wasn't any saliva left in his mouth. His throat was dry. His lips felt suddenly more chapped than they had been before. He ran his tongue over them, finding his tongue to be far less damp than it usually was.

She wasn't the only one who knew. He knew too. He knew all too well what people could be like. People like her husband.

When he saw the light up ahead, Daryl flicked on his turn signal. He found some strange sense of calm in the repetitive ticking of the indicator. He slowed the truck, waited for the black Honda in front of him to make a decision—one that they made without the use of their own indicator—and then he turned the truck.

Carol shifted around in the seat next to him.

"You can just—take me to a motel somewhere," Carol said. "I can stay there for a couple of nights."

"On money you don't got," Daryl said. "No more protected than if you was camping out in your backyard in a tent. We could call the police."

"Get a restraining order," Carol offered. "The strongest piece of paper in the world. _Virtually_ indestructible."

Daryl's chest caught at the sarcasm dripping from her words. He knew about restraining orders too. He knew plenty about them. He'd known more than a couple of people who'd had them and declared that they were really nothing more than government issued toilet paper. Somehow, it seemed, they did nothing of what they were supposed to do.

Restraining orders only worked if the person they were taken out against feared the police enough not to take their chances.

"Fuck," Daryl muttered. He hit the gas to move the truck along a little faster, not that they really had a given time to be anywhere, and then he slowed it when he reached a little side road that he knew. Turning down it a little quicker than he should have, Daryl leaned into the turn and Carol somewhat toppled in his direction. She righted herself quickly and without saying a word about his driving. How he got there didn't concern her half as much as where he was going at the moment.

"Where are we going?" She asked, clearly growing a little concerned.

"My house," Daryl said.

"What?" Carol asked.

"My house," Daryl repeated. "We're going to my house. We gotta have some kinda plan. We gotta know what we're doing. Right now? If I just take you somewhere and drop you off? There's no tellin' what's gonna happen to you. No tellin' how long it takes him to find you or what he does when he _does_ find you. And without a plan beyond just droppin' you somewhere with no money? He's gonna find you."

"I don't want to go to your house," Carol said.

"You got some better idea?" Daryl asked.

"Take me to a motel," Carol said. "That's where I'm going to end up anyway. Whether we decide now or later, that's where I'm going to end up. Take me to a motel. I'll use a fake name."

"I'm guessin' that's worked out good for you before?" Daryl asked. Carol was quiet. She didn't respond. She didn't have to respond. "Yeah," Daryl mused. "I know the drill. We're goin' to my house. We'll figure it out. I just—gotta make a phone call when we get there."

"To—your brother?" Carol asked.

Daryl hummed.

"Or his wife," Daryl said.

Carol nodded her head.

"What are they going to say? About you taking me back to your house?" Carol asked.

"I'm not gonna know until I call 'em," Daryl responded. He didn't offer to guess what either of them might say about him taking a woman back to his house whose husband might be dangerous and might be looking for her. In fact, he tried not to think about what they were likely to say since he wasn't sure how to respond to them just yet—he hadn't even figured out how to respond to the voice in his own head that was screaming at him about what he'd decided to do at the moment.

"Do they know about me?" Carol asked.

"Well, you know Merle does," Daryl said. "My brother. Since that was him at the shop. And—I'ma guess that Andrea does by now. Merle don't usually keep too much secret from her." He glanced at his watch to check the time. "And—it's about time they're gonna start callin' each other."

"School's letting out soon," Carol said softly.

"Yeah," Daryl said. He got the word out before he even thought about what she'd said. His breath caught, but he reminded himself that it was just common knowledge that school would be letting out soon. Anyone might know that.

"Does she know about me?" Carol asked quietly.

Daryl swallowed. It stuck in his throat.

"Andrea?" He asked. "My sister-in-law?"

"No," Carol said.

Daryl's heart picked up its pace until it was thundering in his chest almost as quickly as it had been in the parking lot when he'd first laid eyes on her and realized who she was—that she was real. His whole body suddenly felt jittery.

"You know who I am?" Daryl asked.

"Of course I know who you are, Daryl," Carol said. She didn't offer to elaborate any farther.

"You didn't say nothin'," Daryl said.

"Neither did you," Carol responded.

"I didn't know if you—if you might not want to talk about it," Daryl said. "If you might not want to say nothin' to Merle."

"Me either," Carol said.

Daryl took his eyes off the almost empty road for a split second to look at her. She was sitting rigidly in the seat, staring straight ahead, like she was terrified to take her eyes off the road. She looked more like she was riding on a rollercoaster than in a relatively smooth riding truck. If she'd had anything to hold onto, Daryl was almost certain she'd be white-knuckling it.

"You remember her, then?" Daryl asked.

"There are some things that you never forget," Carol said. She laughed to herself. "No matter—how many concussions or how much time? You never forget." She sucked in a breath and Daryl wished that he could draw oxygen from it since he didn't feel like he was managing to get enough in himself. His lungs weren't filtering it like they should. "Does she know about me?" Carol asked again. This time Daryl couldn't pretend that he didn't know who she was asking about.

"Of course," Daryl said. "She knows some. She knows—enough, I reckon."

Carol looked at him, then. He caught the movement out of the corner of his eye and glanced back at her.

"Enough for me to just be at your house?" Carol asked.

Daryl's stomach clenched.

"I'll—call Andrea and Merle when we get there," Daryl said. "Merle'll pick her up from school. She'd be happy to stay with them for a little while."

"And then what?" Carol asked. "You'll take me to a motel? Daryl—I don't want to disrupt her life. I've never wanted to—ruin her life."

Daryl shook his head.

"I don't know," Daryl admitted. He didn't know what he was doing. Even as he drove the truck toward his home, Daryl had no idea what he was doing. For just a moment, he could almost believe in possession. His body and his mind, for the time being, felt like they were functioning separately from one another. "I just don't know," he repeated. "We'll figure something out."


	8. Chapter 8

**AN: Here we go, another chapter here.**

 **I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

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 _Daryl ended up at the Lone Wolf about once a month. It was a bar that had changed hands so many times that it was only called the Lone Wolf because the man who had bought it last found enough letters stuck in storage to make the sign without having to pay much out of pocket. The sign had been pieced together like a strange patchwork quilt made out of poorly painted plywood. The bar had been about four miles off the highway and stuck right on the county line—close enough for people to find it, but far away enough that it wasn't considered an attraction to any place in particular. For as nice as it was, it never would have been an attraction, no matter its location._

 _He'd ended up there to drink. Nothing more and nothing less. He had two days off and too much time to kill._

 _Carol had never belonged in a place like that and she'd looked like it. She'd been huddled in the corner, munching on a hamburger, like she was trying to disappear from the world. Daryl was always trying to disappear from the world. He normally preferred to drink alone. He didn't relish company, not even of the female variety._

 _Yet he'd sat down with her because, for as alone as he felt in the world, she looked even more alone, and he'd found himself oddly drawn to her._

 _She'd finished her hamburger and fries, drank the two beers he bought for her, and let him finish four beers of his own before they'd moved any farther in their conversation beyond their introductions._

 _By the time they were ready to talk, the Lone Wolf had been too loud and too crowded to really have a conversation. People trickled in as the hour grew later and everything else closed. As a result, everyone that piled through the door was already relatively wasted and not interested in civilized conversation. They weren't interested in anything civilized._

 _In the same way that he'd felt magnetically drawn to Carol enough to sit with her when he'd come there seeking solitude, Daryl had felt unable to stop himself from suggesting they go somewhere else. When she told him that she was staying in a little motel a couple of miles from the place, it had seemed like the perfect spot._

 _He really hadn't meant for anything to happen. She really hadn't meant for anything to happen, either._

 _But whatever had driven him to ask her if he could sit with her and if they could go somewhere more quiet—and whatever had driven her to invite him back to her motel room—had taken over when they couldn't seem to find the words for conversation. Neither of them had managed much more than declarations of "this isn't the kind of thing I really do" that night._

 _And in the morning?_

 _In the morning Daryl had learned the truth. She was married. She was "newly separated". But separated or not, she was married. And she was horrified by what she'd done. It was something she never wanted to do again. Her husband could never know. Daryl had sworn that he wouldn't tell._

 _He'd kept his word._

 _When the magnetism that he'd never understood took him back to the motel two days later, Daryl had knocked on Carol's door, half-expecting her to turn him away in horror, and she'd surprised him by opening the door to him and simply inviting him in. That time they hadn't touched. They'd only spoken. They'd done what they'd intended to do the first night. They'd sat at the little table in her hotel room and they'd shared conversation. They talked about who they were. They talked about they felt about what had happened between them—something that was nothing more than an odd sort of accident. They apologized to one another._

 _She never told him why she was separated and living in a motel that was only fit for mice and roaches, but in all fairness, he never told her anything of the sordid details of his life._

 _For a few moments, he'd forgotten all of those. He'd only talked to her about what he wanted out of life. His dreams for life. She'd done the same. They'd painted pictures for themselves and for each other of a life that neither of them had known—and, honestly, that neither of them knew still._

 _Daryl had walked out of the motel room, when they were done speaking and without having touched her at all, with a feeling of satisfaction that outweighed the feeling he'd left with after they'd had sex._

 _But when he went back, she was gone. That was it. It was as though she were a ghost. He didn't know where to find her. He didn't know how to find her. He didn't know her last name, even. She was there, and then she was gone. It was like she'd never existed at all. He'd stood outside the motel room door for several minutes, staring at the numbers and trying to decide if he'd ever really even crossed the threshold or if it had all been some kind of dream._

 _He might have believed it had been a dream, too, until the evening that he'd first met Sophia._

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Daryl called Merle the moment that he got to the house and told him that he needed a favor. He needed them to keep Sophia for the night. Daryl told Merle the truth, or at least part of it. He told him that Carol was with him and he didn't know what to do with her. He told him that Carol wasn't sure what to do. They needed a better plan than the one that she had. Daryl told Merle that much of the truth, but together they devised a story to tell Sophia. The girl was a fan of spending the night with her aunt and uncle whenever she could, so they decided to tell her that it was simply one of those fun little perks to living close by. They'd decided to ask Daryl if she could have a very special night with them—just to truly welcome her to Lennon. Knowing that she wouldn't spend the night away with Nico and her light, Daryl told Merle to drop by and pick up her overnight bag once he'd taken Sophia somewhere to meet with Andrea.

Daryl explained his need for solitude to Merle as being related to Carol. He wasn't sure what to do with her and he needed a little time to figure things out. She needed some time to figure things out. And he didn't want her being overwhelmed with Sophia's presence. Merle had prodded him a little about his interest in the woman, but he'd finally accepted the fact that, maybe, Daryl just wanted to help her.

That was all he needed to think for the time being.

Daryl had made the call from his bedroom so that he could have some privacy. When he returned to the living room, he found Carol walking around the small space, her arms crossed tight across her chest, looking around her like she was inspecting the place from floor to ceiling.

"See everything you needed to see?" Daryl asked.

Carol jumped like she might come out of her skin and run around as a skeleton. Daryl decided that maybe it was best not to startle her for a bit.

"I'm sorry," Carol said. "I didn't know what to do with myself."

Daryl shook his head.

"You weren't hurtin' nothin'," he said.

"She'll be OK?" Carol asked.

"Fine," Daryl said. "Me or Merle picks her up every day. She comes out to the shop until it's time to go home. Merle's gonna get Andrea to pick her up from the shop—take her to buy the food for supper—an' then he's gonna run by here an' pick up her bag."

Carol stared at him and nodded her head.

"Is he—did he ask anything?" Carol asked.

"He accepted that I don't know what we're gonna do," Daryl said. "Didn't lie. I don't know what we're gonna do an' you sure ain't in no position to figure it out right now if you think goin' off in the man's own car is a good idea."

"It's not the first time I left him," Carol said.

Daryl walked to the refrigerator and took out a beer. On second thought, he took out two. He offered one to Carol and she waved it away, but she finally took it when he offered it again.

"Reckon I know that," Daryl said. "You was runnin' when I met you."

Carol nodded her head.

"That was before it even got bad," Carol said.

"Bad enough you run," Daryl said.

"That was the first time," Carol said. "He—well, back then? He'd only hit me a couple of times. I still thought, maybe things could change."

"Some things don't change," Daryl said.

Carol nodded her head.

"Yeah," she said quietly.

"You left him after that?" Daryl asked.

"A dozen times," Carol said. She shrugged her shoulders. "Two dozen times. I lost count. May I?" She gestured toward a chair at the kitchen table, having slowly made her way in there, and Daryl nodded his head at her. For his part, he leaned back against the counter and watched her.

Nine years had taken their toll on her, that was true, but she didn't look that much different than he remembered her. Looking through the bruises and cuts that adorned her face right now, Daryl could see the same woman who had sat across from him at a table—not entirely unlike the one she was sitting at now—in a seedy little motel room at the county line.

"You left him two dozen times," Daryl said. "In nine years?"

"Give or take," Carol said. She sucked in a breath and let it out. "Doesn't matter. It never worked."

"Usually don't if you don't got a plan," Daryl said.

"Done a lot of running from abusive husbands?" Carol asked.

Daryl laughed to himself.

"Done a lil' bit a' runnin'," Daryl said. "Not from husbands but...runnin's all the same. And I've helped a couple people get outta bad situations. Merle and Andrea have, really. I do what I can. When I'm asked."

"It's who you are," Carol said. She didn't care to elaborate and Daryl didn't care to ask her for elaboration.

"You went back to him?" Daryl asked.

"What?" Carol asked.

Daryl realized that he'd given her no introduction into his question. He hadn't lead into it and he hadn't framed it in any way.

"I went back to the motel," Daryl said. "You were just gone. You went back to him?" Carol dropped her eyes to her beer bottle. She picked at the label with her fingernail and worked it in silence until she got the corner to lift so that she could peel back the paper. It was answer enough, honestly. "Voluntarily?" Daryl pressed.

"I didn't have money," Carol said. "No job. Not too many skills that—not skills that translate to a work environment. I didn't know what to do."

Daryl stopped himself before he spoke again. His knee-jerk reaction was to say that she could have asked him for help. He started to say that she could have waited for him to come back. But even his brain realized how ridiculous the thought was before it escaped his mouth. She had barely known him. There had been so little time spent between them. What reason would she have to think that he was the kind of man that would help her? What reason would she have to believe that he'd even be interested in helping her?

But something must have changed. Otherwise, he never would have found Sophia just outside his door.

Daryl stopped himself from saying it, though. He stopped himself from asking the questions he wanted to ask—at least for a moment. He needed to think over what he had to say with a little more care than just letting it all simply trickle from his mouth as it would come.

And thinking about it reminded him that he still hadn't packed a bag for Sophia. The rest could wait. Merle wouldn't be long in coming.

Daryl straightened himself up.

"We'll figure what to do this time," was all that he said before he put his beer down on the counter to wait for his return. "Drink your beer. I'ma just...pack a bag."


	9. Chapter 9

**AN: Here we are, another chapter here.**

 **I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

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Merle picked up Sophia's bag without coming inside. Daryl had asked him to pick up some beer and cigarettes for them and his brother did that without question. He traded it out for the bag. He hadn't given Daryl too much trouble about having Carol inside the house. He'd only suggested, which Daryl already knew, that he keep her inside and somewhat under wraps during the time that she spent there and until they figured out what to do. They didn't know her husband, they didn't know the people of Lennon, and they certainly didn't know who might be acquainted with Carol.

Daryl could tell that Carol wasn't in a place to figure out where she needed to go or what she needed to do. She was almost in a fog. She sat at the kitchen table, beer bottle sweating in front of her where she commonly forgot to take a drink from it, and stared across the table at nothing in the hallway.

When Daryl came inside, he opened the back door of the house. It was a sliding door and he often opened it if he planned to smoke inside. Sophia was well-accustomed to the smell of cigarette smoke, and once she'd written it down on a school assignment about getting to know her as a "thing she liked to smell," but Daryl still tried to air the house out from time to time. Tonight, though, he thought he'd get ahead of the game. He could use a cigarette or ten to calm his nerves and he was pretty sure that Carol could too.

Daryl put the cigarettes down on the table with an ashtray and took a seat across from Carol so that she had something to stare at besides the hallway. He waited for her to speak, but it was clear that he was going to have to get the ball rolling if anyone was going to say anything.

"You—uh—you went back to him for money," Daryl said. "Security? You go back for anything else?"

Carol took one of the cigarettes from the pack that Daryl had put down and gestured in Daryl's direction with it as though to ask if she were permitted to smoke it. Daryl nodded his head and took his lighter from his pocket. He leaned across the table and offered her the flame. She leaned close enough to his hand to accept it and touched his hand with her fingertips to better guide the flame.

"I couldn't survive without him," Carol said, blowing out the smoke. "Isn't that reason enough?"

"You coulda got some kinda job," Daryl offered. "You coulda survived."

Carol shook her head.

"He'd have found me," Carol said. "I thought about skipping town entirely. Driving—across the country or something. Some real Thelma and Louise shit. But...he'd have found me. And I realized...I guess I was scared. I was too scared to go away that far."

She turned her eyes away from Daryl and he tapped the table to draw her attention back in his direction.

"You ain't the only damn person's ever been scared before," Daryl said. "People get scared of all kinda shit."

Carol gently nodded her head. Daryl didn't know if she was agreeing with him because she saw his perspective on things or if she was simply indicating that she'd heard the words he'd said.

"When I got back...he was mad," Carol said. "He let me know it. I told myself I was going to leave again. But then? I found out about...I found out I was pregnant. I did everything I could to make sure that I didn't make him angry. I knew if I went to an appointment with bruises and..." She broke off and shook her head. "He wasn't going to let me go like that, and I didn't want to miss any appointments because I wanted her to be healthy. I wanted to give her the best chance I could. At first it wasn't a problem. Some guys that Ed worked with...their wives were having babies. Ed was always interested in keeping up with them. He wanted to have what everyone else had and then some. He said he hated when people judged you and they didn't judge you if...if you had everything. If everything was perfect."

"So what happened?" Daryl asked when Carol broke off speaking. "'Cause somethin' happened between him bein' pleased as fuckin' punch that you was knocked up an' me finding Sophia."

Carol almost looked like she was going to be sick. She finished the cigarette that she was smoking and washed it down with some of the lukewarm beer—something that Daryl doubted would settle the stomach if one had a thought of being sick—and then she looked a little more settled. She sucked in a breath and let it out.

"There were three other wives that were farther along than me," Carol said. She shrugged her shoulders. "The three musketeers or whatever the hell they called themselves. The women did everything together. Their lives revolved around the stupid company like it was some sort of club or something. As luck would have it, every last one of them found out they were having a boy. And then? I found out that Sophia was...Sophia."

"He lose his shit?" Daryl asked.

Seeing the expression that crossed her face, Daryl got his answer. He also got a good indication that Carol wasn't going to make it through "story time" with all of her emotions in check, no matter how hard she was trying. He got up from the table and went to the bathroom. He took an extra roll of toilet paper from under the cabinet, picked at the end of it until it hung loose, and brought it to her. He put it on the table between them with the cigarettes and lighter that he'd put there for her. Carol reached for it and thanked him quietly for the offering as she rolled off a length for herself.

"Suddenly I couldn't even be pregnant right," Carol said. "I couldn't do the simplest of things. He started to question everything I said. Everything I did. Even more than he had before. He wasn't just angry at moments, then. He was angry all the time. I pleaded with him. I told him it was probably a mistake. She was probably a boy and...well, they make mistakes. I told him that next time...if it wasn't a mistake. The only thing I could think about was just keeping her safe and I wasn't in a position to do that very well."

"But you did," Daryl said.

"Every time he looked at me, I could see he was pissed off," Carol said. "I was careful to—I didn't draw any more attention to it than I absolutely had to. She was growing, but I didn't say anything about it. It was the elephant in the room all the time. I did everything I could to practically pretend that I wasn't pregnant at all. Ed wanted to be away from me because he couldn't stand me at all. He couldn't stand to look at me and see her. He started signing up for all these business trips. I don't know if they were real trips or...where he went. I don't know what he was doing. I didn't ask because every trip that he went on meant that he wasn't there. It meant that for two days or three? I could breathe. I could feel a little less like I was living in front of a firing squad."

Daryl's stomach churned and he tried her trick of washing down the sick feeling with beer. It worked, actually, better than he might have thought it would. He lit his own cigarette, then, and sat back against the chair.

"And when she got borned?" Daryl asked.

"He actually went out of town the day I went into labor," Carol said. She laughed to herself. "The trip suddenly just _came up_. You would think that I'd be mad about it, wouldn't you? I was so _happy_ though. He was going away and—she was coming. I got myself to the hospital. He didn't offer to take me before he left. He just left. And I got the neighbor to drive me. I lied. I said that I hadn't known. That it had just started. I had plenty of time. The nurses took good care of me at the hospital. They were so much nicer to me than he would've been. I had Sophia and...despite all of that? I felt like I was on _vacation_." Carol smiled to herself, despite the tears she kept wiping away. She unrolled more of the toilet paper and Daryl waited her out while she blew her nose and dried her eyes. Daryl got up and got another beer for each of them so it could sweat on the table while they finished the first warm ones they were still nursing, and he returned to his seat. Mentally, he did a quick inventory of the food and planned something he could throw together for a meal. "I spent that night and the next day with her in the hospital," Carol said. "Just holding her. Loving her. I wouldn't let them take her anywhere. I think they took her for about an hour because they had to, but the rest of the time? I just spent it with her." Carol closed her eyes. "She was perfect. She was the most beautiful thing I've...ever seen in my life. But I knew that I couldn't take her home to Ed. I knew that I couldn't...let him see her. What would happen? He'd been so angry for so long with me that...I knew he was just biding his time. What would happen if I wasn't the only one he was angry with? If he even shook her..." Carol broke off and sucked in a breath, eyes still closed. Her entire expression changed and she shook her head. Daryl reached a hand across the table and touched Carol's hand, knowing full well the kind of darkness that she might have just plunged herself into—a stark contrast from the inner world that had brought out the smile only seconds before. She opened her eyes to him. "I didn't want that for her. She deserved the world. Not to pay for the mistakes I made."

"She was two days old when I seen her," Daryl said.

Carol nodded her head.

"I took her home for a night," Carol said. "You gotta understand that...it was the hardest thing I've ever done. Nursing her that night. Staying up with her. Dressing her. Writing—the letter. I'd already made the phone calls about what papers I would need. I just had to sign them. But signing them? I just wanted her near me and I knew that I was signing something that meant...I had to let her go."

"You coulda left him," Daryl said.

"Physically and emotionally," Carol said, "I didn't know if I was in that place. I had no more money and no more skills than I had before. But then I also had a newborn. And if he'd found me?" Carol shook her head. "A dozen times I'd started to call you."

"You should have," Daryl said.

"I tried," Carol said. "I found where you worked. I found where you lived. While I was pregnant I drove past your house at least ten times. You were home a couple of times and I started to just—get out and show up at your door. Tell you I was pregnant. Just—tell you. But it was a one night stand, Daryl."

"But you left Sophia outside my door," Daryl said. "You had the guts to do that, but you ain't had the guts to tell me you was pregnant an' see if I mighta helped you?"

"You seemed like a good man," Carol said. "Just—an average, everyday man. Nothing too fancy, but you got by. You seemed to make better decisions than I did. I didn't know if you'd be happy to see a one night stand, or even the product of that one night stand, but I knew—I _felt_ like you wouldn't be the kind of man that could hold it against Sophia. Not once you saw her. Once you saw how perfect she was. How beautiful. So—I dressed her and I put everything in her carrier. I parked close to your house and I waited for you to get home. I waited for it to get close to dark. I nursed her and I got her to sleep—she was a good baby. She slept better than I thought a newborn would."

"Always did," Daryl said. "Except when she got colic."

Carol nodded her head.

"I left her on the doorstep," Carol said. "And then I waited in the car until I saw you take her. I stayed about an hour after that because I couldn't drive away."

"You couldn't even bring her in yourself?" Daryl asked. "Talk to me?"

Carol shook her head.

"I didn't want—I didn't want what you felt about me, however angry you might be, to change how you felt about Sophia," Carol said. "I didn't want—you to decide that you didn't want her because of my mistakes and everything that came with them. I thought—a clean break and no strings would make it easier for you."

Daryl opened both of the second beers and put one in front of Carol and the other in front of himself. She didn't look at him, but she thanked him quietly. Daryl tasted the cool beer and lit another cigarette for himself, offering Carol the pack by waving it in her field of vision while she stared at the table.

"You had to tell him somethin'," Daryl said. "First there's a baby an' then there ain't none."

"He didn't care," Carol said. "No baby was fine with him. I lied. Said something happened. Said the hospital took care of everything. No funeral. No expenses. He cared so much about Sophia that...he didn't care. He didn't even look into it. He just..." Carol shrugged her shoulders. She didn't finish what she was saying, but Daryl took by her expression and the shrug of her shoulders to mean that she was saying just that. Ed's reaction had been entirely unremarkable.

"Was she his kid?" Daryl asked. Carol's mouth fell open in surprise—and maybe there was a little fear there. "Biologically," Daryl said. "Was she Ed's kid?"

"I always felt like she was yours," Carol said. "I never got pregnant before or after...so...I don't know if he could..."

"But'cha don't know," Daryl said. Carol didn't respond to him. "I don't care," Daryl said. "One way or the other—Sophia's my kid."

"There was never a test," Carol said.

"Still ain't been," Daryl said. Carol rolled her eyes up in Daryl's direction. She looked, at the moment, more wrung out than she'd looked before. He chewed his lip and shook his head. "Maybe when she's growed up some. If she wants to know for—for like medical history. But I don't wanna put that on her now. It don't matter to me."

"I knew you'd be a good father," Carol offered.

Daryl's stomach tightened. For whatever reason, he always felt uncomfortable when someone said he was a _good_ father. He knew what the opposite of that was—he knew what a _bad_ father was, but he didn't feel that there was anything extraordinary about him. He was just Sophia's father. He shrugged off Carol's comment, as he usually did when someone said something similar.

"I'm just a father," he said.

"No," Carol said. "You're a _good_ father. You always have been."

Something caught in Daryl's chest. Something that he couldn't explain. He got up from the table, trying to run away from the odd sensation and the conversation all at once, and his movement surprised Carol. To soothe her shock from his sudden movement, and remembering that she had every right to be jumpy at the moment, Daryl offered an explanation for his sudden need to escape.

"Gettin' late," Daryl said. "I need to get us somethin' to eat. You could use a shower. Bathroom's just down that hall an'—I'll get something going to eat. Towels are in there. Everything you'll prob'ly need. We'll talk later. Go take a shower now. I'll—we'll eat somethin' when you're done."


	10. Chapter 10

**AN: Here we go, another chapter here.**

 **I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

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"I looked in her room," Carol said, in the middle of eating the quick meal of pasta and a salad that Daryl had thrown together. "I hope you don't mind."

Daryl swallowed down some of his food and shook his head.

"Ain't no harm in lookin' at nothing," Daryl said.

"She's got a very... _simple_ room," Carol said.

Daryl stared at her. He wasn't sure what that meant. He wasn't sure if it was a compliment of some sort or an insult of some sort. He didn't even know where to begin with a comment like that, so he began by asking her to explain herself.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Daryl asked.

Carol shrugged her shoulders.

"I don't know," she said. "I guess...I didn't know what her room would look like. I didn't know if she'd be...messy or clean. I didn't know if she'd prefer a lot of— _things_. Or if she'd like just a few things."

"We just moved," Daryl said. "She's got a couple boxes out in the shed out back. She's not—she don't like a lot of things. I mean...things ain't that important to her. She'd just as soon as have a new comic book as she would a toy." He shrugged his shoulders. "She just don't ask for a lotta things. But—I don't get her everything she wants. Don't deny her neither, though. She ain't wantin' for nothing."

Carol looked at her pasta like simple noodles and sauce required a good deal of contemplation.

"Now I feel like I offended you," she said. "And that wasn't my intention."

She looked like she was having some difficulty breathing. Daryl didn't know if she was that upset over the perceived offense or if she was, perhaps, a little afraid of him because of her experiences with the man who had left his handiwork so clearly displayed on her face.

"You didn't offend me," Daryl said. "I don't know that I've hardly ever been offended in my life. I just don't want you thinking that Sophia's going wanting for anything that she needs. She just don't care that much about stuff. I could prob'ly go in there and pick out enough stuff to fill a box and as long as she had that? She'd be content to just up and leave the rest behind."

"That's not an entirely bad thing," Carol said. "She likes to read?"

Daryl laughed to himself.

"Don't think _like_ even comes close to covering it," Daryl said. "She's reading way above her grade level. I can't keep her in books. Hardest thing I got is figurin' out what she's old enough to read an' what's too much for her. She can read it all. Just about anything you put in front of her. But if I let her get ahold of somethin' that's just too much? I'll be answering questions in the middle of the night for a week. She wanted a novel one time. One of them big ole fat ones." He held his fingers apart to demonstrate for Carol the size of the novel that Sophia had requested. She wanted the big book because, in Sophia's words, it looked like it would never end. It would eliminate the odd sadness that the girl seemed to feel whenever one of her books ended and there was nothing left to do but read it again. "So I got her one. Looked like it was OK. I mean I flipped through it and asked the person at the bookstore about it. Didn't tell 'em it was for a lil' bitty kid, but asked...ya know...if it had anything that was like rated R in it. Well, it had some stuff in there that they didn't tell me about or didn't remember to tell me about. Had me tap dancing all over the place trying to handle things with Sophia without—you know, really _handling_ them."

Carol smiled and raised her eyebrows at Daryl.

"Something she shouldn't know about?" Carol asked.

Daryl felt his cheeks burn warm.

"Sex," Daryl said. "Hell, I mean she's gonna know about it sometime, but I was hopin' she'd get outta second grade first. She didn't understand it, though, pretty early on and drawed my attention to it. I just—kinda flipped through them pages and told her it was just someone being too damn wordy about loving their girlfriend."

Carol snorted.

"Why not just give her children's books?" Carol asked.

"She's got them," Daryl said. "Read 'em all like a million times. She wants big books, though. Long books. She wants to know the people she's readin' about like they're...well, people. That's why she likes the comic books so much. They go on forever. She don't just...meet 'em and then they're gone."

"She makes friends with the characters," Carol said.

Daryl watched her face. She sucked in a breath, but it wasn't labored like it had been before. She was half-smiling when she let it out. Her shoulders relaxed. The statement was just that—a statement. It wasn't a question, even though it had come in a line of questions.

"Yeah," Daryl said, nodding his head gently at Carol. "Yeah. I guess she does."

"I do too," Carol said. "I always have. The best books, to me? Aren't the ones where I can't wait to see what's going to be behind door number three. The best ones? Are the ones where I _feel_ what the characters feel. The ones where I feel like I've got...I don't know. Some kind of _connection_ with them."

Daryl felt the words he was considering saying stick in his throat, but he forced them out.

"I'ma say that she gets that from you," Daryl said. "Because I've never really cared much for books. Especially not long ones. Take too long to get where they're going."

Carol smiled at him and returned to eating her food. Daryl watched her a moment and ate a little more of his own pasta even though his hunger was gone. He waited a few moments before he spoke again, giving her time to say something more and seeing that she wasn't going to say anything.

"If you'da told me you was pregnant and what was happening with him? I'da helped you," Daryl said. "I wouldn't have been pissed if you'd just shown up outside my door."

"You didn't even know me," Carol said. "I didn't feel like...I could show up as a stranger and bring you all my problems."

Daryl considered what she was saying for a moment and tried to imagine how he might have truly felt if she'd shown up, pregnant and without any visible means of supporting herself, telling him that she was trapped in a marriage that she couldn't escape and possibly couldn't survive.

"Hell—I knew you as good as I've known most people," Daryl said. "Maybe better. I don't—I don't really get to know too many people. But I got to know you."

"You had sex with me," Carol said. "And, honestly? I didn't even know what that would have made you think of me."

"Would'a made me think you had sex with me, the same as I had sex with you," Daryl said. "We were both involved, if I remember it correctly."

"I was married," Carol said.

"I sure didn't see him nowhere," Daryl said. "And I come back. That was me. It was me that come back and—it was me that asked you to let me in the room again. Me that asked you to—sit down and talk with me. I remember that, even if you don't. I don't ask people to talk to me real regular."

Carol smiled to herself, her cheeks taking on a visible redness, and nodded her head.

"I remember that," Carol said. "It was a nice night."

"Nicer, to me, than even the one we spent before it," Daryl said. He cleared his throat. "It just isn't very often that I sit down to talk to someone. Not someone that don't have a reason to know me already. Not someone that I'm just—choosing to sit down and talk to."

"You said you wanted a calm life," Carol said. "You said you wanted...everything that you'd ever seen on television. The wife. The kids."

Daryl laughed to himself.

"The two car garage and the pipe," Daryl teased. "The whole damn Ward Cleaver enchilada. Point is? That kinda life? To me it's a fairy tale. I don't even like a pipe. And I ain't never seen nobody that lived like that. Closest I've come to seeing it is my brother and his wife. And I'd say they're a lot more like...like the damn Addam's family...or maybe the Clampetts...or some shit, than they are the Cleavers."

Carol laughed to herself and shook her head.

"If I'd've come to your door? I wouldn't have been bringing that kind of life," Carol said. "There's nothing calm about—someone else's wife showing up on your doorstep and telling you that she's carrying your child and...that he might come to try and get her back."

Daryl shrugged his shoulders.

"He could'a come," Daryl said. "But he wouldn't get shit back. Not if you didn't want him." Daryl swallowed. "That's still true. Even though—you ain't here for me? Even though this ain't nine years ago and it ain't that kinda situation?" Daryl shook his head. "You don't go back unless that's what you got a mind to do. If he was that fond of you, he shoulda never put his hands on you like he did."

"It's easier said than done," Carol said with a sigh. She pushed her plate out of her way and put her elbow on the table. She rested her face on her hand. "I don't have anything, Daryl. And you don't know me. Maybe—you know me. But you don't owe me. I can run but..." She let that trail off. Daryl sat and waited her out. When she picked her thread back up, she picked it up somewhere down the line from where she'd been before. "I don't even know how to get away from him. And I don't know what to do once I _do_ get away. I don't know anything anymore."

Daryl considered it. He chewed over her words more carefully than he'd chewed over anything he'd recently swallowed down to digest.

Daryl didn't believe in love at first sight. He believed, strongly, in _lust_ at first sight. He believed in falling in love, hard and fast, with the _idea_ of someone and what you might _want_ them to be, but he didn't believe in love at first sight. When he'd gone back to the motel with Carol the first night? It had been lust. It had been instant attraction. But there was something more. It hadn't been love, though. It had been the feeling of simply connecting with her. It had been an _easy_ feeling that Daryl wasn't accustomed to feeling with too many people. She was easy to talk to. She was easy to be around. What had attracted Daryl most about Carol was that she made it feel easy to be _himself_. She'd eased the nerves that usually took over when he was in the presence of people. The sex had been good, the best that he'd ever had—not that he really had a great deal to compare it with—but that wasn't why he'd gone back. He'd gone back the second time because he was craving that easiness far more than he was craving her body.

Merle had always crassly declared that good pussy was addictive. That was, as he so crudely explained it, the reason that a man would fight every bit as hard for one that he liked as he would for any vice that held onto him at a chemical level. Whether or not his brother had ever shared this theory with his sister-in-law, Daryl wasn't sure, but he'd shared it with most anybody else that was willing to entertain him, especially when drinks were involved.

Daryl didn't know if that was true, but he'd certainly found something about Carol to be at least a little bit addictive. He'd never gone back to a woman before. And he'd even gone back for her a second time. He could pretend, and he usually did, that it hadn't really mattered to him, but he'd been haunted by the woman ever since.

In fact, he'd been so haunted by her that there were a couple of times, while she'd been showering and he'd been cooking, that he'd asked himself if she was even real. Had Merle really seen her? Was she really in the shower? Or had Daryl gone so far over the deep end that he was caught up in some truly incredible hallucination.

He could, perhaps, convince himself now that she wasn't even real. The woman sitting across the table from him, consuming food and beverages like any human would, could very well be an elaborate phantom.

Except she wasn't. She was flesh and blood—and some of that blood was fresh, unbeknownst to her, where her lip had cracked slightly at the edge of the old scab.

"You don't gotta know nothin' right now," Daryl offered. He sucked in a breath and let it out. "The only thing you gotta know—the only thing you gotta answer for me? Is if you wanna get out. Do you really wanna be done with him? Once and for all?"

Carol looked at him, a little wide-eyed, and her mouth fell open like she was surprised or confused. She stammered something out, but it wasn't a discernable answer.

"I can help you," Daryl said. "I can figure out how to help you. I'll do that. But—I ain't gonna do it if you're just going back to him. I ain't gonna put the time in or the...whatever effort I gotta put into it. Not if you're gonna go running back to him." He shook his head at her. "People get like addictions. Good and bad ones. If you ain't ready to break it? I can't help you and I won't."

"I..." Carol stammered, but Daryl interrupted her again before she could finish any part of that thought.

"I'm not sayin' you owe me anything," Daryl said. "I'm not sayin' you gotta—stay with me or be with me or anything else. This ain't about that. It's about getting you away from him. Just—just gotta make that clear."

"It's clear," Carol said quickly.

"Do you wanna get away from him or not?" Daryl asked. "Once and for all. Because—I'm not helping if you ain't sure about what you want."

"I don't have anything," Carol said.

"That ain't what I asked," Daryl pointed out.

"I want to be away from him," Carol said.

"For good?" Daryl asked.

Carol laughed to herself.

"Every time he doesn't come home when he's supposed to?" Carol offered. "Most women worry that something's happened. They worry that they're going to get some kind of horrible phone call. I've laid in bed and dreamed that cops would show up at my door and tell me that—he wasn't ever coming home. I was free."

Daryl nodded his head.

"Then get some sleep," Daryl said. "And we'll figure something out. I don't know, for sure, what yet, but we'll figure something out. You don't wanna go back? You ain't. Simple as that."


	11. Chapter 11

**AN: Here we go, another chapter here.**

 **I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

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Carol's husband would have no reason to think that Carol was hiding out Daryl's house. He didn't know of any connection between the two beyond the car that she'd wrecked and Daryl was fixing. He didn't even know that Daryl knew her name. If he were to return early from his trip and find her gone, he would probably start looking for her by combing nearby motels. He'd probably call anyone he thought she might know. He might even begin to linger outside shelters in nearby towns.

He also might come to the shop looking for information. He'd want to know if she came to pick up the car. The car was still on the lot, though, and still waiting for the cheapest parts that could be found to fix it. It wouldn't be hard for anyone there to pretend that they'd never seen the woman—especially since Daryl and Merle were the only two who actually _had_ seen her.

Daryl left Carol hidden in his house under strict orders to go nowhere and do nothing that might draw attention. She was laying low and that was it. Then he went about a regular day, calling home now and again to make sure that she was still there and all was fine. Ed didn't show up and the day went on as it normally would. At his lunch break—which he always took far later than most normal people—Daryl went to pick Sophia up from school and he brought the girl back to the shop with him to play around in the office and do her homework there while she waited for his work day to be done.

Daryl knew that he could count on Andrea and Merle to help him with this. He presented Carol as simply someone who needed help. For good measure, he tacked on the little piece of information that they'd once known each other, in a time gone by, and that they hadn't recognized each other until they'd started talking. Carol wanted out of her marriage. She wanted away from her husband. But she couldn't get there alone.

And she didn't have to.

When work let out, Daryl sent Sophia with Merle to get ice cream and to go to see a movie. They sold it as a special "Uncle/Niece Date" and Sophia was pleased with the plan—especially when Daryl pointed out that there was a bookstore not a block away from the little movie theater. Then Daryl called Andrea, got the list from her of things she wanted him to pick up, and went shopping. His few purchases in a bag, he drove back to his house and picked Carol up, quickly covering the ten miles or so between his house and Merle's.

Introductions between the two women had been quick and Andrea had kept things from being as awkward as they could be. She didn't know anything about Carol other than she was in a bad situation and needed help. And, of course, she was something of a distant friend of Daryl's. That was all that Andrea needed to know. At least, that's all she needed to know for the time being. Daryl pulled up a spot on the couch and he left the two women to their work while he pretended to watch television and thought about what was left to do—realizing that they'd only just begun to scratch the surface.

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"This is going to be nice," Andrea said. "I think Daryl did a good job picking out the color. I honestly didn't think he was going to be sensible enough to get something that had—what'd they call it? Multi-something color?" She was helping Carol wash her hair out with her head bent over the bathtub. "It's semi-permanent, though so it'll wash out when you're done with it. You don't have to be a brunette forever. OK. I think we've got it."

Carol stayed still and accepted the towel when Andrea offered it to her. Carol wrapped it around her head like a turban and sat back, resting on her heels for a moment until the slightly dizzy feeling passed that came from staying upside down for too long.

Andrea was smiling at her. The woman had worn a warm and welcoming smile since Carol had come through her door. She'd greeted her like they were old friends, or at the very least _new_ friends, and she'd carried that through the whole process. Now she was primping Carol until Carol almost felt like she had fallen into some alternate universe and was some kind of star that deserved to get this kind of treatment.

Andrea looked at her face, her brows furrowed. She leaned close enough to Carol that Carol could identify the smell of the gum that the woman had been chewing throughout the hair coloring process.

"Did you go to the doctor about this?" Andrea asked.

Carol stared at her and Andrea nodded her head.

"It's healing," Carol said. "It'll heal. I can tell. Nothing's broken."

Andrea frowned and nodded her head again.

"It'll heal, but I might see about getting you in to see a doctor as a favor. At any rate, you need to just let it heal," Andrea said. "Don't put anything on it. Just—stay under wraps until it's better. I hope you won't mind but...I've got to take some pictures of it. Before it gets any better."

Carol swallowed and nodded her head.

"I understand," she said.

"Any bruises anywhere else?" Andrea asked. "I know—it's probably not what you want to talk about but, anything I can use against him? I need it."

Carol nodded her head.

"They're not as prominent," Carol said. "But I've got them on my arms. Legs. Around my ribs? I have some scars, too. They're from old...times. But I have them. They're not going anywhere."

"Can I take pictures?" Andrea asked. "When—we go shopping in my closet for some clothes?"

"I don't want to take your clothes," Carol said quickly. Andrea shook her head at her and renewed her smile.

"You'll absolutely take my clothes," Andrea said. "I love to shop and it's a perfect excuse for me to say—I really need to get a few more things." She laughed to herself. "You'll be doing me a favor. Besides—most men are pretty dense and not that observant. You change your hair? You're a totally different person. You change your clothes? Brand new to them. Put on a pair of glasses? It's like they've never seen you before. It's like all those great movie makeovers. The ones where—they had no idea the leading actress was gorgeous because, well, they couldn't see past her ponytail and glasses. It's ridiculous, but there's an element of truth to it when you're dealing with most men. Let me see your hair. Take the towel off? We'll dry it. It's pretty short so there's not much—yeah, there's not a lot that we can do there."

"You do this a lot?" Carol asked.

"Dye hair?" Andrea asked. She answered before Carol could clarify herself and Carol didn't interrupt her. "Honey, the only blonde hair on my body is on my head and my husband _loves_ it. I think Merle's going to expect me to be a bleach blonde until I'm ninety. It's a lot of upkeep, though. I could pay someone to do it, but if I can do it myself? You know, why not?"

Carol laughed to herself.

"I meant—help women like me," Carol said. "Change people's appearances."

"It's come up more than you might imagine," Andrea said. "One reason or another I need to help a client. I do a lot of domestic abuse cases, though, and it's not uncommon for me to get in there and help out. I'm going to protect my clients however I can. If that means changing their hair color and letting them crash in my guest room? It's worth it. Can I dry it? Or you want to?"

"I can do it," Carol said. "It doesn't matter anyway. I just—usually let it dry itself."

"Stay there," Andrea said. "Get comfortable."

Carol sighed. Oddly enough, it was relaxing. She couldn't remember the last time she felt relaxed like she felt at the moment. When Andrea started to blow dry her hair, picking it out with her fingers as she went along, Carol closed her eyes and enjoyed the sensation of being touched. Maybe that was the nicest thing about the whole transformation—she was being touched and it was in the kindest way possible. She was almost sad when Andrea declared her "done" and offered to help her get to her feet. She showed Carol her reflection in the bathroom mirror, but Carol quickly looked away from it. She didn't want to see herself. She didn't want to look at her own face. It was fine. Whatever Andrea did was going to be just fine.

She followed the woman down the hallway, at her beckoning, to her bedroom. The room smelled differently than the rest of the house. It smelled like perfume and lavender. It was a very relaxing room. Immediately Carol wanted to crawl into the luxurious bed, herself, and take a nap. It was clear that Andrea had put a great deal of effort into turning her bedroom into an oasis. Around the room were picture frames. Andrea and her husband stared back from almost all of them, genuinely happy. Carol couldn't imagine what that might feel like—to be genuinely happy with the person you were sharing your life with. From some of the frames, Sophia's face smiled back.

Carol's stomach weighed her down a little. At least, she thought to herself, the woman was kind. She was in Sophia's life, and probably had been from the start—maybe even doing some of the things for the girl that Carol should have been there doing. At least she was kind.

Carol quickly swallowed down her feelings. She was allowed to be a little less than enthusiastic, given her circumstances, but she didn't want to be too much trouble for Andrea. She didn't want to bring too much negativity into the woman's life. She watched as Andrea piled clothing up on the bed—far more than Carol could imagine she needed.

"I can't take all of this," Carol said.

"You'll take every bit of it," Andrea said. "It's really not a lot. And you're going to need clothes of all kinds. Really, do you see my closet? It's not even going to be missed."

"I have some clothes," Carol said.

"And you're not wearing them," Andrea said. "Nothing that can be recognized. Pick something you like. I'll take the pictures and—pack all this up for you. I laid a pair of glasses out for you too. They're just glass lenses. No prescription."

Andrea gestured toward the nightstand and Carol picked the glasses up. They were thick framed, but not unattractive. She put them on and laughed to herself.

"Did Daryl buy these too?" She asked.

"I had them," Andrea said. "I've got a couple of pairs. I wear reading glasses, too, but those are just—for fun."

"Who has fake glasses for fun?" Carol asked. Immediately she regretted how it sounded. Andrea had fake glasses for fun. That's who had them. Andrea didn't look offended, though.

"You really wanna know?" Andrea asked.

Carol sighed.

"I'm curious," she said.

"My husband has a—well, a _thing_ ," Andrea said. "And—sometimes we just...make things a little _different_. The glasses are just an easy change to make. Not painful. Not permanent. I've got a whole box of things...temporary tattoos, outfits, wigs, make up, you name it."

"OK," Carol said. "Point taken."

"Now you're sorry you asked," Andrea teased.

"No," Carol said. "I'm not. It's just...life. There could be worse things."

The smile dropped from Andrea's face, though she tried to recover it quickly enough.

"Yeah," Andrea said, putting the last of the clothes she was "donating" to Carol onto the pile. "There could be. Pick something out to wear now. I'm just going to get my camera and...something to put this in. OK?"

Carol nodded her head and touched the pile of clothes. There was a staggering amount there. She was pretty sure that the pile itself was larger than all the clothes she'd ever owned before. They were nicer, too.

"I appreciate...you doing this," Carol said. "All of it. The hair. The clothes. Helping me figure out how to handle the legal stuff. I'm going to pay you for the work."

"You're not paying me anything," Andrea said. "We do pro-bono. It's a case I want to take, so I'm taking it. I won't take your money."

"I don't want to be a charity case," Carol said.

Andrea laughed to herself.

"Then how about—we just call it a favor for a friend?" Andrea asked. "Does that sound better?"

"You don't know me," Carol said.

"I don't," Andrea said. "But—you look familiar. Are you _sure_ we haven't met before?"

Carol shook her head at her and smiled at the woman. It wasn't the first time that Andrea had asked her that since they'd started this little _project_.

"No, we haven't," Carol said. "I'd remember if we had."

"It's a genuine question," Andrea said. "You do look familiar."

"Just one of those faces," Carol offered.

"Maybe," Andrea said. "Besides that, almost every friend I've ever had wasn't my friend until I met them. So—who knows?"

"You're not even going to ask me how I got into this mess?" Carol asked. "Or why I stayed so long? Why I wasn't able to get away before? Why I let this happen? Get this bad?"

"I'm your lawyer and, I hope, your friend," Andrea said. "So you can tell me everything. I'll ask you to tell me everything eventually. But—misjudging people is easy. The only thing that separates you and me is that the asshole that I married was honest about his particular brand of being an asshole. That's it. Get changed. I'll be back."

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 **AN: I'd just like to say that I know there are some people who have a problem with Carol's hair being dyed in fics (or even not being gray because of her age in the fic). I have no problem with Carol's (or Melissa's) gray hair. I love her hair and I think she's beautiful just as she is. The dye in this fic is about changing her appearance purposefully, not because I think that there's anything that needs to be changed aesthetically. I just wanted to clear that up if there are any concerns.**


	12. Chapter 12

**AN: Here we are, another chapter here.**

 **I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

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Daryl carried the two large bags into the house that were overflowing with everything that Andrea had packed for Carol. He lugged them into his bedroom and put them on the floor. Carol followed behind him, slightly out of breath from darting from the truck to the house.

"You don't gotta run," Daryl said. "I don't think Ed's back in town and I don't think he'd recognize you that quick if he was."

"It can't be that dramatic," Carol said. "The change."

"It's pretty damn dramatic," Daryl said. "I mean I know it's you and I think I would, but I wouldn't just recognize you at a glance. Not with the clothes and the hair and...what not."

Carol sighed and sat down on the couch.

"Now what?" Carol asked. "What can I do to help?"

"What you can do to help is lay low," Daryl said. "Stay hid. Andrea's gonna work on the papers. Until she says it's good to come out? We keep you under cover. I put everything she sent with you in my room. You can use my room until..."

He broke off. He didn't really know how to finish the statement. Until what? Until everything was settled? Until it was safe to find her somewhere else to stay? Until they knew exactly how much this thing was going to blow up? He didn't try to finish it. Instead, he just let it drop. He let it hang out there in the atmosphere.

"She didn't have to do all this," Carol said. "You don't have to do all this. I'm not going to put you out of your room. I can sleep on the couch or the floor or...something. I'm not going to put you out of your room, Daryl."

Daryl laughed to himself.

"And I'm not going to let you sleep on the floor," Daryl said. "I got no problem sleeping on the couch. Really, it ain't nothin' but a thing to me. I could bunk with Soph if it was that big a deal." Saying her name just brought back to the front of his mind what had been on his mind all day. _Sophia_. "We gotta talk about Sophia."

Carol's facial expression looked a little tenser, if that was even possible.

"I know we do," Carol said.

"It's OK her spending last night with Merle and Andrea," Daryl said. "It's OK her spending tonight with 'em. But—I miss havin' her here. I don't want her ten miles away from me."

"You should've let me just stay there," Carol said.

Daryl's stomach clenched.

Technically Carol was right. Merle and Andrea had a spare room. Daryl had opted for a small starter house with only two bedrooms for him and Sophia. They didn't need more than that. But something had made Daryl insist that Carol stay with him. Something had made him insist that she come and stay in his room, moving him to the couch, rather than remain in a comfortable and unused guest room. But it was something he wasn't ready to deal with yet—not with Carol and not with himself, either.

"You're better off here," Daryl said, though he offered no explanation as to why Carol was better off there—he hadn't offered one to Andrea either. Luckily, Andrea hadn't questioned him. She'd simply agreed to handle things his way as long as there weren't any problems. "But we gotta talk about Sophia and what I'ma tell her. I can tell her the same as I told Andrea and Merle. I can tell her you're just a friend I used to know—somebody I'm helping. But it's up to you what you want her to know."

"Do you normally keep secrets from her?" Carol asked.

"No," Daryl admitted. He sat down on the couch beside Carol. "No, I don't. I figure—I just tell her how things are. Sometimes I kinda sweeten 'em up for her, but I tell her the truth." He sucked in a breath and tried to read Carol's face. He couldn't tell what she was thinking. He couldn't tell how much of the discomfort on her features was coming from what he was saying, and how much of it was simply coming from the situation in which she now found herself. "Listen," Daryl said, "Soph didn't come with no instruction manual. I—I don't always know what I'm doing with her. I mean—I don't have that much experience with women. Certainly didn't have much with little girls until Soph come into my life. It's a lot of trial and error. It's a lot of me trying to figure things out. And—I'm not gonna lie. Raising Sophia? It's been the hardest damn thing I've ever done. Every little thing I say? I'm scared it's gonna be something that's gonna screw up her life forever. Every little thing I do, I worry that it weren't the right thing. She has a problem? Don't matter if it's a papercut or the fact that she don't make a lotta friends at school—I'm up at night trying to figure out how I caused it and how I'ma fix it for her. It's been the hardest damn thing I've ever done in my life. But...it's been the best damn thing I ever done. And I wouldn't...I wouldn't trade it for the whole world. If somebody said I could go back in time and change things? And if I was to—give it all up they'd...I don't know...they'd set me up for life? I got no worries? I'd turn 'em down. Because there ain't nothin' they could give me that would compare to—wakin' up with Sophia's feet in my face 'cause she had a dream and she come in to sleep with me an' got all turned around in the bed from sleepin' so good."

Carol laughed at the image and wiped at her eyes. Daryl saw the tears there, and he saw her wince when her fingers hit the damaged skin around her eyes, but he didn't draw attention to it.

"I missed all of that," Carol said quietly. "The hardest thing in my life? The hardest thing I've ever done was leaving her. But—you have to understand...I don't know if you can understand. I don't know if anybody can. But—I want you to understand...that I did it for her. I did it because I thought it was the best thing for her. I was so scared that Ed was going to hurt her. I knew he was going to hurt her. Sooner or later? He'd get mad at me. He'd get mad at her. And he was going to hurt her. I'd have rather him killed me than...than to let that happen. I didn't know what else to do to save her from Ed. I didn't know how...how else to save her from the mistakes that I made."

Daryl swallowed. He moved a hand and tentatively put it on her leg to offer her some kind of support. She looked at it, and he started to pull it back, but she didn't tell him to move it. She didn't seem offended by the gesture, so he left it there.

Carol sucked in a breath and when she continued speaking, her words were even more flooded out by the tears that she was choking back, most of which were still finding their way down her face. Her words came out wrapped up in the sobs.

"There hasn't been a day that—I haven't missed her. I kept up with you. I watched you with her. From a distance. Until you moved. I lost her again when you moved. I thought—I finally had to let her go. For real. Once and for all. I couldn't even—I couldn't see her from a distance. And then we moved and—I found you again. Just like...just like that. I found you again. And then we moved here and...it was the same thing. I lost her again," Carol said. "And there hasn't been a single day since she was born that I haven't thought about her. That I haven't missed her."

"You found her now," Daryl said. "And—I don't hold it against you. What you done? I ain't never held it against you. I figured—you had a pretty good reason to do what'cha did. That's why I moved. Whatever it was? I wanted to get her farther away from it than...than even you was managing to get her away from it. I didn't realize it was just an asshole—and I coulda..."

He broke off. What was he going to say? He didn't realized that he could have gotten her away from Ed back then? If he'd known that Ed was the problem he would've...what? He would've saved her? He'd have come riding up at her house like some kind of white knight in a rusty Chevrolet and he would have saved her from Ed?

He could say that's what he would've done, but he didn't know. That was the kind of thing that he simply couldn't know unless he was there in the moment. All he knew, and he knew that facts were what he had to stick to at the moment, was that he didn't blame her.

So he reiterated that.

"I never blamed you for what'cha done," Daryl said. "And I never told Sophia to blame you for it either."

"But she does," Carol said. "I'm sure she does. What kind of child wouldn't be _horrified_ that their mother left them?"

Daryl laughed to himself.

"Sophia," Daryl said. "Sophia's the kind of child that wouldn't be horrified. Listen—I woulda liked for her to know you, but she didn't. She didn't go wanting for anything, though. She hasn't had some kinda childhood where she sat around pinin' for a Ma. She's asked a couple times about it and I told her about you. Told her you give her to me because you wanted her to have the best kinda life she could, and you couldn't give that to her. Told her it was—well, that it was the greatest way that you could love her. She was that important. And she is. She kept you around as an invisible friend for a while, but...Soph's—she's doin' OK." Daryl swallowed, not knowing if that was really a kind thing to say. "I'm sorry," he offered. "That maybe ain't a good thing to say to you."

Now it was Carol's turn to laugh through the tears she was struggling to dry up.

"No," Carol said. "No. It's the best thing to say." She shook her head. "If it hurts that she doesn't miss me because she doesn't know me? That's on me. But—I'm glad that she doesn't miss me. I'm glad that she isn't—sad or lonely. I'm glad to know that she was happy enough to not need me." She looked at Daryl, her blue eyes bloodshot, and she offered him one of the most painful smiles that he'd ever seen in his life. It nearly ripped his own chest in two just to imagine the pain she must have felt to produce it. "It means I made the right choice," Carol said. "It means you were a good father. The kind of father—I hoped you would be."

Daryl felt the familiar tightening in his chest that always came with someone's comments about his abilities as a father. He chewed at his lip, deciding to ignore the comment entirely instead of trying to dismiss it.

"You gotta tell me what you want to do," Daryl said. "We gotta decide something. Either we—tell Soph what we told Merle and Andrea, or we blow the top of this thing entirely. It can't be halfway. I can't confuse her like that or run the risk of her finding out I lied to her. We're either telling her the truth or—we're deciding right now that nobody but us ever knows it. Either way? It's your call. I ain't gonna judge you either way, but you gotta make the choice. You tell me what'cha wanna do."

Carol sucked in a breath. She rested her elbows on her legs. She tented her fingers and rested her face there before she rubbed her fingers across her skin and winced over the fact that she'd forgotten the damage that was done there. Daryl let her have her moment. He let her think things over. He couldn't begin to imagine all that she was dealing with and he wasn't going to tell her which way she had to go. Finally, she seemed to reach a conclusion because she dropped her hands and let them hang more freely in front of her.

"I don't know if there's such a thing as second chances," Carol said. "But—if there is? I'd like a second chance, Daryl. I'd like—a second chance with my daughter."

Daryl nodded his head. He wasn't entirely sure what it would look like or how it would work out, but he accepted Carol's answer. And he believed in second chances. Everyone, he was sure, had been in at least one situation where they'd desperately wanted one. They didn't always get them, of course, but he believed in them when they were there to be had.

"If a second chance is what you want?" Daryl offered quietly, still digesting things for himself. "Then that's what'cha get."


	13. Chapter 13

**AN: Here we go, another chapter here.**

 **I want to say thanks to all of you who are reading and reviewing. I'm so glad that you're enjoying this little story! It means a lot!**

 **I hope you enjoy the chapter! Let me know what you think!**

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"You bring me out here to talk to me, or just 'cause you like the atmosphere?" Merle asked.

The "atmosphere" he was referring to were the large green dumpsters that surrounded them on either side. The spot between them was the most secluded spot that the body shop had to offer and it was one of Daryl's favorite places to smoke because he was least likely to be interrupted by other workers, and even customers, who didn't understand what the word "break" meant.

But today he'd asked Merle to join him because he wanted the chance to talk to his brother without any prying ears eavesdropping on the conversation.

"Brought you out here to talk," Daryl said. "Just didn't want people listening."

"So you wanna talk, talk brother," Merle responded.

"She's gonna stay with me a while," Daryl said.

"She bein'...?" Merle asked. "The she that was stayin' already, right?"

"How many damn women you figure I got in my house, Merle?" Daryl responded quickly. Merle just laughed and shrugged his shoulders.

"If you'da told me a week ago there'd be any at all in your house, I'da called you a damn liar," Merle said. "It ain't exactly like you runnin' a regular bed and breakfast with all your conquests. You sleepin' with her?"

"She's sleepin' in my bed," Daryl said. "But I ain't. No, I ain't sleepin' with her." He hesitated a moment. "That's kinda what I wanna talk to you about, though."

Merle arched his eyebrow at Daryl.

"You _plannin'_ on sleepin' with her?" Merle asked.

Daryl ignored his brother's question. Instead, he steered the conversation a little more in the direction that he wanted to take it.

"Sophia ain't stayin' at your house again tonight," Daryl said. "I'ma pick her up at my lunch break when she's outta school and I'm takin' the rest of the day with her. I already put in for it. There's nothin' I can't make up this week that's gotta go out."

"So you gonna introduce her to your new house guest?" Merle asked, apparently choosing not to harass him anymore about sleeping with Carol for the moment.

"If she's gonna be stayin', they gotta meet," Daryl said.

"What'cha gonna tell her?" Merle asked. "I mean about the whole damn thing? That lil' woman's face is enough it's gonna have Sophia askin' questions for a couple days. Unless Andrea magically healed the damn thing yesterday."

"She can't heal that," Daryl said. "Gotta work itself out. Was takin' her today to the doctor, though. Andrea wanted a report on it." Daryl lit the cigarette that he'd been waiting to light. "And—I'ma tell Soph the truth, Merle. There ain't nothin' else to tell her but the truth. You know what I say—always better she learns it from me than learns it somewhere else."

"Wish I could say she was too damn young to know what the hell people are capable of doin'," Merle said.

"But you know she ain't," Daryl said.

"You gonna tell her he beat her or...how you gotten sugar coat that shit?" Merle asked.

Daryl shrugged his shoulders.

"I ain't decided for sure yet," Daryl said. "I mean—she knows they's people that hit. That we don't do it, but there's people that do."

"Lotta damn difference in knowin' it an' seein' some woman's face fucked up like that, lil' brother," Merle said.

"I'ma try to ease her into it before she sees Carol," Daryl said. "Talk to her in the car. Ya know? Prepare her for it a little bit. Carol said she ain't got no problem answering her questions, though. As delicately as possible, of course."

"Of course," Merle mumbled in agreement.

Daryl cleared his throat. His stomach ached. He couldn't feel more uncomfortable if he tried. He knew, though, that it wasn't going to get better until he did something about what was causing the feeling. No matter how bad things were in life, he'd learned that they usually weren't half as bad as he anticipated they would be. His mind was usually far crueler than reality. He had something to say, and he might as well go ahead and say it. He could deal with the fall out later—if it even came at all.

"That ain't all the hell I gotta tell her," Daryl said.

Merle laughed to himself.

"Please tell me today ain't the day you decided to tell her there ain't no Sant-y Clause," Merle teased. "Give the kid a break. One damn punch in the gut of reality a day, brother."

"No," Daryl said. "I gotta talk to her about Carol."

Merle looked at him. His expression changed the way it usually did when Merle either had something serious to talk about or he figured he was about to walk right into a serious conversation. Every bit of humor left his features. He quickly tried to refresh it, but it wasn't going to fool Daryl. Daryl knew his brother too well. He'd already set himself for whatever it was.

"What'cha got to say to Soph about her?" Merle asked. Daryl swallowed. "Spit it out, boy. You damn near green around the gills." Daryl tried to speak, but he realized that it was going to be harder to get the words out than he imagined in the beginning. Merle hummed at him. "I reckon I know what the hell it is, but you gonna say it. Hell, if you can't say it to me—you ain't never gonna get it out to Sophia."

"What the hell do you know about anything, Merle?" Daryl asked, laughing nervously to himself because his brother didn't speak entirely like he was bullshitting him.

"He sure did fuck her face up good," Merle said. "But—even with all them bruises and cuts, them eyes are still somethin' else, aren't they? You—you seen her eyes, didn't you, brother?"

Merle rolled his own eyes in Daryl's direction and Daryl felt a little more nauseous than he had before.

"I seen 'em," Daryl said, his pulse kicking up a notch.

Merle nodded his head and fumbled around in his pocket. He came out with his own pack of cigarettes and shook one out. He took his time placing the cigarette between his lips and lighting it.

"Yeah," he said, when he was finally ready to exhale the smoke of the first drag. "Yeah. Me too. Hard not to notice 'em. Seen 'em last night, too, starin' at me over kitchen table. Askin' me if...if I was gonna be mad if Andrea was the one readin' the story 'cause she's got a better story voice." Merle laughed to himself. "Them eyes. They the kinda thing you just...you just don't miss."

Daryl's stomach felt like it somewhat bottomed out in his body. If a doctor had gone looking for it, he was pretty sure that they wouldn't have found it—all their years of medical school be damned.

"How long you known?" Daryl asked.

"I think the better question is how long have you known?" Merle responded.

"When'd you figure it out?" Daryl asked, reorganizing his question and ignoring the one that Merle directed at him.

"Took me a minute," Merle said. "I ain't that quick. I mean—I noticed 'em right off. You know I was always a sucker for a pair a' pretty damn eyes." He laughed to himself. "But then again, maybe you was too. I reckon—I figured it out about the time I was pickin' up Sophia's bag. See—you was so damn protective already, brother. Damn near skittish about me comin' in your house...and I realized it weren't about me. It was about that lil' woman. And you? Brother you was just about one good full moon away from pissin' a damn circle around the whole damn house."

"I knew it was her the minute I saw her standin' there," Daryl said. "Tryin' to get the car. I didn't know if she knew it was me, though."

"You ain't knowed it was her when her ole man was bringin' in the car? Talkin' about what the hell he was doin' to her?" Merle asked.

Daryl shook his head.

"Forgot her last name," Daryl said. "Only time I ever even seen it was on the papers a long damn time ago. Don't think I even remembered it. Didn't ring a bell. If it had..."

Daryl paused. His instinct was there to insist that he'd have done something about it. It was the same instinct that he'd had to tell Carol, more than once, that he'd have done something to help her if she'd told him about Ed. He couldn't be any surer now, though, that it was true and not just bravado. He couldn't be sure that it was true and not just something that he felt it was right to say. So he didn't say it. But he didn't have to, either.

"If it had," Merle said, "what, lil' brother? You'da rearranged his damn face for him the minute you heard him talkin' about hittin' her damn face harder'n she hit that barrier?"

"It don't matter," Daryl said.

"You right," Merle said. "It don't matter. All that matters is...what the hell you do about it now. And you know I love a good chance to knock the shit outta someone deserves it as much as the next person, but that ain't the way to handle this. Best way to handle this right now is to let Andrea do what the hell she does best." He laughed to himself. "Or at least what the hell she does best in her job."

"I figured you'd be pissed," Daryl said.

"What?" Merle asked. "That'cha ain't whipped that man's ass? Or that'cha ain't told me sooner?" Daryl didn't respond. Now that Merle was ticking reasons off why he might not be happy with him, Daryl was starting to realize there was more there than he'd originally thought about. Merle raised his eyebrows at him. "Or—that'cha fucked some married woman and brought home Sophia?"

"It weren't like that," Daryl said.

"What exactly was it like, brother?" Merle asked.

Daryl shook his head.

"They were separated," Daryl said. "She left him. He was gone. She mighta been married, but she was on her way to not bein' that way. So I thought. And—it just kinda happened."

Merle laughed to himself and nodded his head.

"Yeah," Merle said. "I know all about them things that just kinda happen. Andrea was one of them things that just kinda happened. Why didn't you never tell me who she was? All that time—and you just kept her all secret like. Said she was long gone. Said—she was outta Soph's life. Outta yours. And then she shows up right here, damn near in your own backyard. Don't seem too gone."

"She was gone," Daryl said. "Hell—I didn't know where to find her. When she left Soph, the letter said that the best thing for Soph was putting distance between them. I know now that—it was her husband the whole time. She was scared of him. Scared of what he'd do to Soph. You know, Merle, good as I do what it coulda been like for Sophia growin' up with that. She didn't want her to live with that. Didn't tell me that's what it was, though. Just—that the distance was somethin' that she had to do for Sophia. Hell—I didn't know where she was. I moved three times. I didn't know she was gonna show up here. She didn't even know I was here. Just happened that way."

"Now you sellin' me some line about fate or somethin'?" Merle said.

Daryl considered it and finally nodded his head.

"Maybe I am," Daryl said. "I don't even know anymore. All I know is—Carol showed up here after nine years of neither of us expecting this. She's Sophia's Ma and—she wants a second chance at that. She wants a second chance at knowin' her. And—I wanna give her that. Wanna give that to Soph."

Merle watched his foot while he took a moment to dislodge a rock from the ground with his toe. He moved it around, one inch in one direction and then back an inch, before he stomped it back down into the soft Georgia sand that they were standing on. Then he looked at Daryl and furrowed his brow.

"You got feelings for her, brother?" Merle asked. Daryl wasn't sure how to respond, so he chose not to respond. Merle nodded his head. "Reckon I got my answer," Merle said. "Talk to Soph. She'll understand. She's a reasonable young'un."

"Just like that?" Daryl asked. "You ain't pissed. You ain't got nothin' to say?"

Merle laughed to himself.

"I got plenty to say," Merle said. "But—maybe the only part that matters is—you know you an' Soph got me an' Andrea for whatever the hell you might need." Merle rolled the cigarette butt between his fingers that had long since burned out and flicked it into one of the green garbage cans. "Whatever the hell you might need," he added again, turning and walking back toward the shop.


	14. Chapter 14

**AN: Here we go, another chapter here.**

 **I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

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"It's really an eraser," Sophia said. "But I'm not gonna use it like one."

Daryl glanced over at the unicorn eraser that his daughter was holding in her hand and admiring.

"What'cha gonna use it for if not what it was meant for?" Daryl asked.

Sophia shrugged her shoulders.

"Don't know that yet," Sophia said. "But if I use it like an eraser, it'll smudge him up. And then he won't be beautiful no more."

Daryl hummed at her. He could have told her that just about everyone and everything got "smudged up" in life, but that didn't mean they weren't still beautiful. But he didn't tell her that. He had other things to talk to her about, and the clock was ticking down. He knew to expect Andrea to arrive with Carol somewhere around five thirty and it was almost five thirty. It had taken him longer than he'd anticipated to get Sophia home, get her fed a snack, and get her settled down to the point that he thought she was ready to listen to what he had to say. Carol wanted to be there to handle telling the girl about their relationship, but Daryl wanted to at least prepare her a little for the way that Carol looked before the woman walked through the door.

"Andrea and Merle tell you anything about the woman that's stayin' here?" Daryl asked. He reached a hand over and bumped Sophia's leg to get her attention before he repeated the question. She stared at him and nodded her head. "Yeah? What'd they tell you?"

"Aunt Andrea said she's really, really nice," Sophia said.

"She say anything else?" Daryl asked.

Sophia furrowed her brows at him. She didn't understand why she was being held hostage in the living room, but she accepted it. Sophia was better at accepting things, perhaps, than most children her age. Daryl figured that acceptance would go a long way.

"Was she supposed to say somethin' else, Daddy?" Sophia asked. "Being really nice means a lot."

Daryl laughed to himself and moved his hand to rest it on Sophia's shoulder. She scooted over a little on the couch to bring herself closer to him. She enjoyed affection—and she wasn't ashamed to show it.

"Yeah, it does," Daryl agreed. He paused and considered how to proceed from there. "You remember me talkin' to you about—how some people sometimes hit other people? And you're not supposed to do that, but sometimes they still do it? Because they're not very nice at all?"

"And I should always tell you if they do because—you'll make sure they stop?" Sophia offered.

Daryl nodded his head.

"Yeah—I'll help you if they do," Daryl said. "Well—Carol? The woman you gonna meet? Sophia—she was married to one of them people. And she's trying to get away from him now. For good. That's what'cha Aunt Andrea's helpin' her with right now. But—when you see her? Soph—her face is kinda...well, it's _hurt_. Before she got away from him? He hurt her pretty good. And I don't want you to be too surprised when you see her. She said you can...ask her whatever you want. Anything. You can talk about it, but I don't want you to be too surprised, OK? Because she's got some bruises and cuts on her face from where it got hurt."

Sophia stared at him with her mouth slightly open. She would do that sometimes—she had since she was a baby. Daryl often marveled at the fact that her tongue didn't dry out when she held her mouth like that for too long. It was a sign, though, that she was really paying attention. She was really working on something in her mind. Finally, she dropped her eyes back to the eraser that she'd acquired for "being helpful" in class and fiddled with it, making the unicorn walk across her legs in a hopping sort of manner.

"You're helping her?" Sophia asked.

Daryl squeezed Sophia's arm.

"I'm trying," he said. "I'm sure gonna try."

Daryl stood up when he heard the sound of a car outside and glanced out the window. Andrea got out of the car first and Carol followed behind her. Andrea stepped behind Carol and followed her to the house. Daryl opened the door for them at almost the exact moment that they reached the threshold so that they could pass inside without having to stand outside and wait.

Carol's mouth fell open when she noticed Sophia sitting there on the couch—much the same way Sophia's had fallen open when she'd been contemplating everything. Daryl held back on the urge to reach out and touch her, offering her some kind of reassurance. She'd known this was coming, but maybe it didn't take away the shock. Instead, though, Daryl spoke to Andrea and tried to make everything as normal as it possibly could be—for the benefit of both Carol and Sophia.

"Everything go alright?" Daryl asked. He watched Carol as she took off the oversized sunglasses she was wearing and put them on the table nearby. He glanced at Sophia who was sitting on the couch and wasn't even pretending not to stare.

"Nothing's broken," Andrea said. "They did put three stitches in that cut. It wasn't closing well."

"I got stitches one time!" Sophia barked out.

Carol actually looked relieved to hear it. It gave her a reason to address the little girl that was staring at her, breaking her eye contact with Carol's face only long enough to occasionally glance at Andrea and Daryl.

"You did?" Carol asked. She walked over and sat down on the couch next to Sophia. Sophia stayed in her spot, but she did lean forward to roll up her pants leg.

"Right there," Sophia said. "See? On my knee? Right there. That's the scar. I got it from falling down. I was little, though. I don't remember it."

"She was two," Daryl said. "And she was running and fell down." His stomach clenched. "I guess I shoulda stopped her running like that."

Carol shook her head in Sophia's direction, but the shake was meant for Daryl.

"Accidents happen," Carol said. "We all fall down sometimes."

"That's where you got them?" Sophia asked.

Much to Daryl's horror, not only did Sophia ask about it, but she put her finger directly over the tight stitches just to the side of Carol's eye and pressed them.

"Sophia! Don't put'cha fingers in people's cuts!" Daryl barked. Sophia jerked her hand back and Carol laughed.

"It's OK," Carol said. "That is where I got them. But I can't feel anything. It's all numb right now. The doctor made it numb for me."

"So it didn't hurt?" Sophia asked.

"It didn't hurt bad," Carol said. She shook her head at Sophia and offered Sophia a smile before she crinkled her nose at her. That too. That was something else that Sophia had gotten from her. Daryl saw it. That little way of wrinkling up her nose. "Just a little pinch when I got the shots to numb it."

Sophia's eyes went wide and she looked at Daryl, her chest rising and falling quickly.

"We try to avoid the "s" word around the house," Daryl said. "It's never really gone over good."

"I'm sorry," Carol said, apologizing to Sophia. She shook her head quickly at the girl. "It's OK, though. It didn't hurt. Really."

"Is Sophia coming with me?" Andrea asked Daryl, digging through her purse.

"Merle didn't talk to you?" Daryl asked.

"I've been busy all day," Andrea said. "We were working on paperwork for Carol and we just left the doctor."

"Soph's stayin' here tonight," Daryl said, figuring his brother would fill Andrea in on the rest later.

Andrea glanced at Carol and Sophia. For a moment it seemed like they were fine. Sophia seemed more curious about Carol's injuries than horrified and Carol was letting her do a very thorough exploration of them despite the fact that they hadn't actually been formally introduced.

Andrea pulled a bag from her purse and offered it to Daryl.

"These are antibiotics and she needs them," Andrea said. "She takes all of them. Until the bottle's empty. The stiches come out in a week. Dr. Reynolds said he'll take them out for her. As a favor. If you need to call? She's seeing him under the name of Annie Dixon."

Daryl laughed to himself.

"Annie Dixon?" He asked.

Andrea just nodded her head. She walked around him and quickly offered a kiss on the cheek to Sophia. Sophia got off the couch to wrap her arms tightly around her aunt and Andrea offered a "goodbye" to Carol and Daryl both before she left the house.

When the door was closed, Daryl leaned against the wall and wondered how on Earth they were going to do this. He didn't have any idea where to start. And now, standing on her feet, her face leaned close enough to Carol's that she probably could have extended her tongue and licked her, Sophia was continuing her study of Carol's injuries with a great deal of concern on her face.

When she reached a finger out again and rubbed it over Carol's face, hard enough that Carol jumped, Daryl intervened.

"Sophia—stop touching her face," Daryl said. "That hurts! You don't like it when someone pokes your bruises, do you? Besides—your hands are dirty and she don't need infection to go with everything else."

"She's on antibiotics," Carol offered, turning her eyes in Daryl's direction. She smirked at him and Daryl realized that the longer she was there, and the more time he had to study her face in all its different expressions, the more he was realizing how much his daughter truly looked like her mother. "Strong ones. And—it really doesn't hurt that bad."

Daryl frowned at her.

"Your eyes are damp," Daryl said. That was all he had to say. It hurt worse than she was letting on. She just didn't want to tell Sophia that she was hurting her. "Did you introduce yourself, Soph? Before you started poking?"

Sophia looked at him and shook her head. She backed a step away from Carol, putting a normal distance between the two of them.

"I'm Sophia," Sophia said quite formally.

Carol smiled at her and nodded her head.

"I know you are," Carol said. "And I'm—Carol."

Sophia nodded her head. Then she looked at Daryl and gave him just enough attitude in her expression to say that the job was done, but not enough that he felt the need to correct her for her sass.

"It's nice to meet you," Sophia said to Carol, while actually looking at Daryl. Daryl walked around her and sat on the couch near Carol to make things less difficult.

"It's nice to meet you...again," Carol said.

Sophia looked at her.

"We met before?" Sophia asked.

Carol nodded her head and Daryl's chest felt tight. It appeared that Carol was going to do this—all on her own. She needed him there for support, but she wasn't going to make him be the one who handled it all.

"We met—a long time ago," Carol said. "You wouldn't remember me, though. You were just—a tiny little baby. You were about...this big...and you weighed just a little under seven pounds."

Sophia looked to Daryl for confirmation and Daryl nodded his head. He cleared his throat and sat forward, entering Carol and Sophia's space a little more.

"She's right," Daryl offered. "That's about how big you were when you were born." He laughed to himself. "You were a tiny little thing."

"That was a _really_ long time ago," Sophia declared.

Carol laughed nervously and nodded her head. Daryl got up and went for the roll of toilet paper they'd left on the kitchen table from the last time Carol had needed it. He was pretty sure she wasn't going to get through this without blowing her nose at least once.

"It sure was," Carol said. "Sophia, when—when you were born? You were—the most beautiful baby girl that...that there ever was. You were _perfect_. And you don't remember me, sweetheart...but I could never forget you."

Daryl returned to his seat on the couch with the toilet paper roll in hand. Sophia was staring so hard at Carol that Daryl felt a little unnerved by the stare. Both of her hands were clenched in loose fists, and she kept squeezing the one that was holding the unicorn eraser that she hadn't abandoned yet.

"Soph," Daryl offered, hoping to help Carol out a little bit, even though he wasn't any more sure of what to say than she was, "you remember how I told you that'cha Ma—well, she loved you so much that she give you to me so you could have a better life than the one she figured she could give you?" Sophia shifted her laser-like stare to Daryl. She nodded her head slightly. Daryl sucked in a breath and let it out. "Well—she still loves you. And she's in a better place now in her life. Things are going better. And she's hoping—you'd let her have a chance at being your Ma. Loving you some more."

Sophia shook her head gently from side to side. It wasn't what Daryl expected. He didn't know what he expected, but he hadn't been expecting that.

Carol's intake of breath was loud enough that Daryl heard it. If Sophia heard it, though, she didn't redirect her attention to the woman. She was saving it all for Daryl at the moment.

"Why not, Soph?" Daryl asked, deciding not to get worked up until he'd allowed his eight year old to tell him what she was thinking—or at least some of it. The rest, he was sure, would trickle out as the days went on.

"I gotta stay with you," Sophia said quietly. "You and me. We stay together, always."

Daryl's heart thundered in his chest, but it was met with a kind of sinking feeling in his stomach—the kind that came more with relief than with the tight clenching of fear. He put on the best smile he could, despite his tension, and nodded his head at Sophia. He reached a hand out and, catching her by the arm, pulled her toward him until she came to him, stepping between his knees, and leaned into his body. Sophia rubbed against him like a cat, and he held her there a moment.

"Of course," Daryl said. "Absolutely, Soph. You and me? We stay together. Always. Like peanut butter'n jelly. Weren't talkin' about that. Was talkin' about her—lovin' you _too_. Nothing else but that. Just the plus one, not the taking away."

Sophia turned her body and wrapped her arms around Daryl to hug him properly. He moved his legs farther apart to allow her to hug him as tightly as she wanted. He returned the hug.

"Would'ja like that?" Daryl asked, rubbing Sophia's back. "Just—knowin' her? Lovin' her too? Givin' her that chance to love you close up again? Would that be OK?"

"Yeah," Sophia said, not lifting up from her position against Daryl's body. "That'd be OK."

Carol reached out a hand and rubbed it against Sophia's arm. Feeling her contact and being reminded that she was there, Sophia lifted out of the hug enough to turn her head toward Carol. Daryl moved his arm to offer Carol the roll of tissue that she already needed. She took it quickly, and she put on the best smile that she could—a smile that almost hid the reality of the tears streaming down her face.

"Sophia? Sweetheart? I'm right here," Carol said softly, her voice only shaking slightly.


	15. Chapter 15

**AN: Here we go, another chapter here.**

 **I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

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"You could read a little more," Sophia pointed out. "Like—to right there." The point that Sophia indicated on the book would leave Carol reading at least an hour to get to what was almost the halfway mark of the novel.

Carol smiled at her.

"I could," Carol said. "But—not tonight. It's too late and we have to talk sometime, remember?"

Daryl was watching everything. He wanted to leave the two of them alone. He thought it would be best to give them some time to themselves, but Sophia wasn't quite adjusted to the idea of Carol putting her to bed and Carol seemed at least a little relieved by Daryl's presence in the room. He still felt, though, like he was eavesdropping on their conversation. He felt out of place. He felt like an intruder even though, up to this point, he'd only been listening to Carol read the first two chapters of a young adult book about wizards and warlocks that Andrea had picked up for Sophia.

Sophia seemed to accept Carol, but she was a little standoffish. Daryl didn't expect her to immediately fall in love with the woman, though. Sophia, like Daryl, took her time warming to people. Sometimes she took so much time warming to them that she never actually got there. Other times, like with Ms. Greene, she warmed up fairly quickly. But Sophia took her time—and that was probably because she didn't hold back at all once she'd accepted someone.

For the time being, she'd accepted Carol, and that was where they would remain for at least a little while.

Carol lie on the bed with Sophia, the book folded closed in her hands now, and Daryl watched over them from the chair in the corner of the room, the one that he'd once used to rock Sophia to sleep at night, and tried to blend in with the wall.

"You know that—my staying here has to be super top secret, right?" Carol said. "Just between us. Just for a little while."

Sophia studied Carol.

"Because he'll come back?" Sophia asked.

Carol nodded her head.

"But he's not going to come back," Carol said. "He's not going to find me. We're going to be very quiet about where I am and then your Aunt Andrea is going to make sure that he never comes back."

Sophia reached her hand out and touched Carol's face, ghosting her fingers over the worst of the bruises. Daryl hadn't managed to entirely talk the girl out of touching Carol's injuries, but at least he'd managed to get her to be more mindful of how hard she poked and prodded them. She stopped her movements—appearing to read her found-again mother's face like braille—with her fingers near the recently stitched cut.

"Does it hurt now?" Sophia asked.

Carol nodded her head gently.

"A little bit," Carol said. "The feeling is back. It's not numb anymore."

Sophia sat up a little and craned her neck so that she could look at Daryl. He might be trying to blend in with the wall, but she was well aware that he was there.

"We got cherry medicine for it, Daddy," Sophia pointed out.

Daryl swallowed down his laughter and rocked the chair, his hiding place uncovered for a moment, to release a little of his nervous energy.

"Yeah," Daryl said. "Don't'cha worry, Soph. Soon as you go to bed? Carol—your Mama's—goin' to bed and I'ma give her a capful of that cherry medicine."

"Cherry medicine?" Carol asked.

"It's for when you don't feel good," Sophia informed her, very matter-of-factly.

"Cherry Tylenol," Daryl said. "You gonna love it. Tastes delicious."

A hint of a smile turned up the corner of Carol's lips and she reached her hand out to touch Sophia's arm. Sophia allowed the touching—and the hugs—because she enjoyed affection. And as soon as she decided that she wanted to fully accept Carol, Carol would learn the full extent of how much Sophia liked touching.

"You'll share your cherry medicine with me?" Carol asked.

"I don't hardly ever need it," Sophia said. "So you can really take as much as you want. It's really for when I get sick and get a fever."

Carol nodded her head.

"I don't think I have a fever," Carol said. "Do you?"

She leaned her head toward Sophia, but she probably wasn't expecting Sophia to do what she did. Instead of touching her forehead—a place where Daryl had never been certain that he could find too much variation in the warmth of his child because he figured the air hit it too much—Sophia reached her hand around to the back of Carol's neck and pressed her palm there.

"I don't know," Sophia said. "I don't know how hot you were before. You might have caught a fever."

Sophia didn't move her hand, though, from its new location. Instead, she used her fingers to rub at the hair at the base of Carol's neck. Carol didn't stop her.

"I don't think I have a fever," Carol said. "Are you going to keep my secret?" Carol asked after a second. "That I'm here? Nobody can know but your Daddy and your aunt and uncle, OK?"

Sophia nodded her head.

"I won't tell anyone," Sophia assured her. "I'm really good at keeping secrets. I have all kinds of secrets."

Daryl shook his head to himself.

"What secrets you got, Soph?" Daryl asked.

He disturbed her enough that she stopped rubbing Carol's hair and lifted herself up, craning her neck to see Daryl again. More concern than was necessary came over her features—and maybe a little touch of sass for good measure.

"I can't tell you that," Sophia said, the sass coming out in her tone just a little. "Because then they're not secrets anymore."

"Fair enough," Daryl accepted. He figured that, at the very least, they wouldn't get the secret out of her easily.

"Do you have any more questions for me?" Carol asked.

"How long are you staying?" Sophia asked.

"You mean here?" Carol asked. She opened her mouth, clearly not sure how to proceed.

"She'll stay long as she needs to," Daryl offered. "Don't know exactly how long that'll be, but she'll stay long as she needs to, Soph. That OK? Her stayin' long as she needs?"

Sophia looked back at Daryl and then back at Carol. Her hand went back to the woman's face, but this time it was just to trail her fingers against her chin. It wasn't to harass the injuries that she'd been preoccupied with for most of the evening. Sophia nodded her head.

Carol reached her hand up and mirrored Sophia's gesture. She rubbed her own fingers over Sophia's face and Sophia allowed the same exploration of herself that she was expecting Carol to allow.

"I may not always stay here," Carol said, "in your house. But—I'm going to stay with you forever, OK? Even if I'm not here, in this house? I'm always—going to be here, Sophia. I'm going to be close by for you, OK? Like your aunt and your uncle. I may be in a different house, but I'm not going to leave your life. Never again."

"You'll stay with us?" Sophia asked. "Because Daddy and me? We stay together. Always."

Carol paused a moment and nodded her head.

"Yeah," she said quietly. "Yeah. I'll stay with you. In your life. Always."

Daryl eased himself out of the chair and he crossed the room to the bed. To avoid crawling over Carol in the most awkward way possible, Daryl leaned across Sophia from the other side and planted a kiss on her cheek. She turned her body and offered him a hug that was really more her wrapping her arms around his head. Then she offered him a kiss of her own.

"You sleep good," Daryl said. "Have some sweet dreams? You got school in the morning."

"Goodnight, Daddy," Sophia offered. "Love you."

"Goodnight, Soph," Daryl responded. "Love you."

"Where's Nico?" Sophia asked. Daryl picked the forgotten unicorn up off of the edge of the bed and offered it to her. "You'll turn on my light?"

"On my way out the door," Daryl assured her. He looked at Carol. "Take your time. I'ma just—go finish up in the kitchen."

As soon as Daryl was sure that Sophia would accept his leaving them alone, Daryl walked over to the plug in where the nightlight waited for him. He flipped the little switch on the plastic lightbulb cover and then he made his way in the kitchen where he busied himself with putting away the rest of the leftovers from the dinner that he'd cooked.

He heard Carol when she padded into the kitchen, and he turned to find her standing near him, her arms crossed across her shoulders.

"I ain't gonna pretend I think it's gotta be easy," Daryl said. "So how you feeling?"

"I think—she's doing OK, I think," Carol said. Her eyes showed some puddled tears starting to gather and Daryl was sure she'd remember where they last left the toilet paper roll that had been designated for snot and tears. "I think—she's doing OK. She—she told me goodnight." Carol smiled. "She told me she loved me."

"She's doing alright," Daryl said. "I told her about you a long time ago. For a while? You were an imaginary friend that was always runnin' around my house." He laughed to himself. "You don't know it, but I had to like—buckle your ass into the car and shit for a while there." Carol smiled a little more sincerely at the information. "I'm guessing that right now? Soph's just kinda coming to terms with the fact that her imaginary friend did something that no imaginary friend has ever done in like the whole history of the world...not outside them story books she likes so much. She come to life."

"I don't want to push her," Carol said.

"And you doin' a good job of not pushing," Daryl said. "Let her come to it on her own terms."

"Probably—she likes touching me because...well, do you think it's because...it makes me _real_?" Carol asked.

Daryl nodded his head.

"Probably got something to do with it," Daryl said. "That and—well, mostly it's probably because Soph really likes touching." He sucked in a breath and went to the refrigerator. Inside, four beers were cooling. He'd put them in just before dinner. He took one out and offered it to Carol. She waved it away, but finally accepted it when Daryl offered it to her again. He walked over and opened the back sliding door before he took his own beer and sat down at the kitchen table. He lit a cigarette and put the pack where Carol could reach it if she were interested in having one. "Merle and me weren't raised with a lotta touching," Daryl said. He cleared his throat. "That ain't right. We weren't raised with a lotta good touching. Affection. Sometimes I think that's what won Merle over when it come to Andrea. She wanted to touch him all the time—rub his head. Rub his face. Sit on his lap. Rub his arms and everything else. He was so damn _hungry_ for that kinda touching that it started to mean more to him than even the...well, the other kind of touching I knowed they were doing. When I got Soph? I noticed she responded to it. She liked being held. Sometimes it was the only way she was happy. She liked being held and loved and—sleeping on my chest. Always touching or, at least, always coming back to it. I had a couple people try to stick their nose in my business more'n once. Said she'd be spoiled from me touching her so much." Daryl laughed to himself. "I figured—hell, I weren't spoilin' her by buyin' her shit or makin' sure she always got her way. I was just—spoilin' her by lovin' on her. Figured they was a lot worse ways she could be spoiled. So I kept on lovin' on her and ignored what they said. I don't know if she's spoiled—I'm sure she is. But she loves loving. And I don't regret how I done it."

Carol sat down across from him and she smiled at him.

"And you like it too," Carol said. "The touching? The affection. Like Merle—you like it too." Daryl shrugged his shoulders. "I don't think she's spoiled," Carol offered. "I think she's perfect. She's a smart, funny, sweet, _perfect_ little girl. And she can...she can touch me as much as she wants."

"She was hurting you earlier," Daryl said. "I'll give it to you, you weren't too obvious about it, but she was hurting your face."

Carol shrugged her shoulders.

"I've been caused a lot of pain with intentions that were a lot less pure," Carol said.

Daryl's stomach twisted. He could understand that. He could understand, too, what Carol meant. From the probably millions of times that Sophia had crawled across him and very nearly killed him when his nuts got crushed under a foot or a knee, or from all the times she'd accidentally rung his bell by head butting him in the chin as she moved about, Daryl could understand what Carol was saying. It might hurt, but it was an accident. An honest to goodness accident. And a little bit of pain was worth the love that came with it.

He didn't feel like he could say all that, though, so he settled for a simple "yeah" to let Carol know that he understood her.

"Do you think it's safe?" Carol asked. "My being here?"

"Soph ain't gonna say nothing," Daryl said. "You're safe. Nobody's gonna know you're here."

"I don't think I really mean for me," Carol said. "I mean—if he finds me? I don't want him to find Sophia. I don't know how safe it is for me to be here. In this house."

Daryl shook his head.

"Truth is you're safer here than you're gonna be anywhere," Daryl said. "Ed's got no reason to think you're here. You don't know me and I don't know you. Not far as he's concerned. You ain't out in the open and you got no reason to be, so it's safer than a motel or a shelter. And when he finds out Andrea's your lawyer? You'd be a lot less safe there. Odds are he's gonna be watchin' her as soon as she files them papers and he gets served."

Carol frowned and shook her head.

"I don't want Andrea to get hurt either," Carol said.

Daryl shook his head in response.

"Don't'cha worry about Andrea," Daryl said. "This ain't her first rodeo. Merle won't let her get hurt. And if Ed was to hurt her? God bless America—because Merle Dixon would make that shit look like a damn unfortunate accident." Daryl laughed to himself. "Besides—Andrea knows how to use a gun and she will, if she has to. You just worry about—laying low and doing what she tells you to do. Stay inside. Stay hid. We'll work on the rest for now."

"I don't deserve all of this," Carol said. "Everything—everything you're doing for me. That you're all doing for me. I don't even deserve—another chance with Sophia."

"You deserve it," Daryl assured her. "If you didn't, you wouldn't get it. I gotta go to sleep, though. Getting late. I'm used to going to bed right about the time Sophia does. You need anything—you know where it is." He laughed to himself. "Did you want some children's Tyelenol?"

Carol smiled.

"No," Carol said. "I think I'll be fine."

"If you change your mind," Daryl said, "it's in the little cabinet above my bathroom sink. There's some adult Tylenol in there too. If you think that'll serve you better."

"You take your bed back," Carol said. "I'll sleep on the couch."

Daryl hummed at her.

"I would," he said, "but I done got my mind all made up for the couch. Do whatever you're gonna do. Once I close my eyes? I won't hear a single noise that don't come from Sophia. Promise."


	16. Chapter 16

**AN: Here we are, another chapter here.**

 **I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

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When Ed Peletier showed up at the shop to ask about his car, Merle had quickly told Daryl that he'd handle it. He didn't have to explain to Daryl, either, why he was taking on the conversation with the man. Daryl was, at this point, too involved. Since they didn't want Ed to know that he cared that much, or that he even really knew anything about Ed and his wife that Ed hadn't shared himself, it was better for Daryl to keep his distance from the man. That way, there was less of a chance that he'd ever think to trace Daryl back to Carol.

And Daryl did keep his distance, but it didn't mean that he didn't find a spot to somewhat hide himself while he feigned an activity so that he could still see the two men and overhear their conversation.

Merle strolled over, his hands shoved down deep in his pockets, to where Ed was standing. Merle almost looked jovial about talking to the man, but Merle was better at dealing with assholes than Daryl ever had been. He learned it, no doubt, by not having the sense to keep from putting himself directly in their paths.

"You Ed, right? Pe-le-tier?" Merle asked. He would know. He had been the one that had met the man in person when the car had been dropped off. Merle pulled a hand from his pocket and offered it to Ed. Ed shook it and Merle returned his hand to his pocket. "Car ain't ready."

"What the hell you doing up here all day long that it ain't ready?" Ed asked.

Merle laughed to himself.

"Told you," Merle said. "We offer fast, cheap, and good. Trick is, you can only pick two. You picked cheap and good. The cheapest, I believe, was what'cha said. We got parts comin' to us from a couple different places. But we can't fix one thing if we're still waitin' on some part we need to get to it."

"How much damn longer you suppose it's going to take?" Ed asked.

"For what we said in the estimate?" Merle asked. "At least a week. Now you wanna pay more, we can get an express service on some things. Get somebody workin' overtime once we got everything."

"No," Ed said. "Hell no. You're already gouging the hell outta me with the price you give. I ain't payin' more for a damn mistake my bitch ass wife made." Ed reached in his pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. He shook one loose for himself and offered one to Merle. Merle waved it away and, instead, took one from his own pocket. He didn't even want to smoke the man's cigarettes—and that was saying a lot for Merle. But he'd stand there and smoke with him while they talked. He'd feign common ground and friendly acquaintance with Ed like he would with any customer. And he usually let the customer decide exactly what that entailed—what made them feel comfortable, welcome, and among friends.

"We ain't gouged you on the price at all," Merle said. "I knew you was upset about the whole thing. Give you the fairest price I can. Cutting corners on some of the work by doing it myself. Just to help out. Relieve the stress."

"Don't matter no damn way," Ed said. "Bitch up and run away again."

"Run away?" Merle asked.

"Can you believe this shit?" Ed asked. "Here I am, working my ass off to pay for her—because she's an expensive bitch—and while I'm gone? She up and runs off. Probably out running around. Making a damn fool outta me."

Merle chuckled to himself.

"You didn't sound none too happy with her about wrecking the car," Merle said. "You sure that's why she run off?"

"Who would be happy with her?" Ed asked. "She's like a severed artery when it comes to money. I can't stop the damn gushing. Then she wrecks the damn car and I gotta pay for this shit too."

"That car ain't really worth much," Merle said. "But—if you got no interest in fixing it, you could probably strip it down for parts. Get fair price for it if you sell to the right people."

"She'll come crawling back," Ed said. "She always does. Crying and snotting all over the place. Dogs learn better than this bitch does, though. By the time I teach her how damn mad running off makes me? She's already forgot it and she's running off again. Taking for granted the fact that, without me? She wouldn't be shit. She wouldn't have shit. I'm the only reason that woman's alive and she don't treat me with an ounce of the respect that I deserve."

Merle sucked his teeth like he was awful sorry to hear about the troubles that Ed was experiencing with his wife—a woman who was entirely unknown to Merle. And, in all honesty, the woman that Ed was describing was entirely unknown to Daryl as well. Other than the food she'd eaten and some medicine that Andrea had paid for to keep her from suffering from infection in the sores that Ed had placed on her face, Carol hadn't really cost Daryl one red cent since she'd come into his home. She wasn't exactly a severed artery on his finances—but Ed seemed to consider her to be so.

"Sounds to me like you oughta be glad she's gone," Merle said. "Good riddance. She's run off and you don't gotta deal with her. Scrap the car for the money you can get from it, change the locks, and don't answer the door if she should come knocking and begging her way back in. That's what I would do if a woman was causing me that much grief."

"She don't work," Ed said. "She ain't never worked. I mean—I don't think it's proper that she's out there working. Rubbing up on some strange men all day long, doing God knows what, and looking to make an ass outta me. You know what I'm saying? But the least she can do is keep a decent house to earn her keep. She could have my meals ready. Have the house clean. Make herself something nice to look at when I come through the door after a long day of working to keep her ass up. But she's just about worthless. Don't do a single thing. I work hard all day and come home to shit. You know what I mean?"

Merle laughed to himself and sucked his teeth.

"No," Merle said. "No. I can't—I can't say as I know what'cha saying. My wife works. As many hours as I do. Most the time more. And the house ain't always clean, but I make a pretty big mess myself. And dinner ain't always ready, but I can throw something in the oven easy as she can. I guess she's always been something nice to look at. At least to me. I don't know if anybody else is enjoying the view, but I don't much care."

Ed tilted his head back. Daryl knew the stance. It was the stance that every asshole had ever taken in any situation where they were deciding if they were going to square off with someone. It was the stance that they took when they were sizing someone up. They were deciding just how offended they were by what was said based on whether or not they figured they could beat the ass of the person who had said something they didn't like.

Daryl knew that stance. It wasn't the first time he'd seen it. It was, however, the first time he'd seen it just outside the body shop and during working hours.

If Merle saw it, he was ignoring it entirely. He was still wearing a smirk on his face, smoking his cigarette like he didn't have a care in the world.

He was damn near inviting the man to hit him. But Merle knew, from being married to Andrea as long as he'd been married to her, how to get around the law a good deal. If Ed hit him? Well it was just self-defense. And if he damn near killed Ed in self-defense? Well that was just temporary insanity brought on by the cold fear that he'd suffered when he'd been sure that his life was in danger.

Merle Dixon wasn't scared of Ed Peletier, and his body language made that clear to anyone who might have been watching them.

And he must have made it clear to Ed, too, because Ed dropped the stance and somewhat relaxed back into himself, forcing himself to laugh the comment off in an artificial manner.

"You might just be surprised what she's probably up to when you think she's at work," Ed said. "That's the thing about women. They'll lie in a heartbeat. You can't trust 'em as far as you can throw 'em."

"I don't know how far that might be," Merle said. "Never tried throwing my wife." He smiled at Ed, showing him more of his teeth than he honestly had to. "Have you?"

"Well—I'm not going to be made a fool of," Ed said, taking Merle's question as hypothetical. "And I'm making that shit clear to her ass when she comes crawling back. I might not even pay for the car. Let her figure out some other way to get back and forth to the grocery store. I don't know what she's got to go there for, anyway. It's not like she cooks worth a damn. Then she costs me money on some repairs and runs off...I'ma let her know I won't deal with it again. That's for damned sure."

"Sounds to me like you oughta just cut that one loose," Merle reiterated. "I mean it. Cut'cha losses if you gotta. From the sounds of it, though, you ain't lost much you'll miss. Like someone missing a tooth that's giving them a fit. It'll be gone, but you don't really want it back. Ye-ah, I'd just let that one go."

"Believe me," Ed said, "if I hadn't put so damn much money into her? You know how much money they cost with all their wanting and needing. Nothing's ever enough. Nothing's ever good enough. You barely close your wallet before a hand's out, just asking for more."

Merle hummed and shook his head. He looked around like he was more interested in the birds that flew around out there looking for the cracker crumbs they sometimes threw out than he was in the conversation that was taking place.

"My wife makes more'n I do," Merle said. He laughed to himself. "I guess I'll have to ask her when she gets home tonight if—if she's thinkin' I always got my hand out for money. That's about how that'd work."

Daryl bit his lip. As disgusted as he was with Ed Peletier, and as much as he wanted to walk out there and punch the man straight in the mouth, he was fighting not to laugh at the fact that Merle—without really even doing much—was clearly disarming the man at every turn. Merle was presenting Ed with a look at a life that was entirely different than the one he was painting. He was turning Ed's view of how things ought to be upside down. And the worst part of it, maybe, was that Merle was making it clear that he didn't mind it a bit—something that seemed to leave Ed standing there with no idea how to respond.

"Well—you don't get the money back that you put into them," Ed said, his voice changing. He couldn't help but cool down a bit. Merle had caught him so off guard that his frustration had lost momentum. Without someone to help feed it, it was dying down a little. "And you can't get back all the damn time you put into them either. All the years that I could've spent with a decent woman, I wasted on her. Hell—gotta get my time and money out of her some way. Even if I gotta constantly teach her how to act decent. Get no thanks for everything I've done and there ain't a refund on wives. If there was? I'd gladly take it and forget about her. Let her be somebody else's problem."

Merle laughed to himself again and hummed.

"Yeah," he said. "I can't really relate to that neither. I mean—I can't think of nothin' that I'd take for my wife. Money or otherwise. But—hell, I can see how you'd be happy to be rid of the one you got. If she's all that'cha say she is. I still say, you'd be better to cut your losses." Merle sucked his teeth. "But about the car...it still ain't ready yet. So what'cha wanna do there? Keep on the course we set? Have it ready in about a week? Or you wanna cut your losses there and get a tow to haul the thing outta here as is? Sell the parts for cash?"

Ed stared at Merle a second before he responded.

"How much do you think it'd bring? For parts?" Ed asked.

"Oh, I don't know," Merle said. "You could make some calls. We could hold it for you. But if we're not fixing it, then we'd have to charge you rent for the space."

"What would you do if you were me?" Ed asked.

Merle laughed.

"I'd forget about that lil' woman and let her go," Merle said. "Move on with my life. Be better off for it." Ed tipped his head back in the same stance as before. Quickly he tipped it forward, but he still wore a clear expression of annoyance. "Oh," Merle said with a laugh. "You mean about the car. I wouldn't put another dime into it except the tow fee if I was you. You'll end up with more in it than it's ever gonna be worth—late year like that one is."

Ed sighed.

"Can you call a tow?" He asked.

Merle smiled.

"I'll have one on the way in a half hour," Merle said. "You can wait if you want. Take a lil' stroll around the parking lot. It's a nice day. And I don't know about you, but it always makes me feel better...the lettin' go of somethin' that just ain't worth my time and money."


	17. Chapter 17

**AN: Here we are, another chapter here.**

 **I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

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Carol poured the detergent into the washing machine and closed the lid. She opened the dryer and tugged out the clothes that were in there, letting them drop into the laundry basket before she closed the dryer door once more and heaved the basket up, taking it directly with her to the bathroom where she dug through the clothes and found the towels that she'd return, clean, directly back the hangers from which they'd come.

The least that she could do was take care of some of the household chores. She could do the laundry. She could wash the towels and wash the sheets—which weren't as fresh as maybe they should have been—and she could unpack the linens from the boxes that were stacked up in the closet in the hallway. She could clean and she could put dishes away that were still in boxes in the corner of the kitchen. She could put together a meal that would welcome Sophia and Daryl both home.

It was the least she could do, since Carol felt she could do relatively little else.

When Carol hung the hand towel up on the hook beside the sink, she stopped and looked at herself in the mirror. Her face was almost frightening. It was healing, but healing had a way of looking just as awful, in its own right, as fresh cuts and bruises did. Slowly the colors were changing. They were taking on a bit of green tint as the blood worked its way out of the places where it had pooled. Scabs stood in where fresh blood had been before.

Carol's reflection was almost frightening, like something out of a movie, and she could understand why it was difficult for others to look at and why Sophia seemed so concerned with whether or not it would progress in its healing.

Carol had become so accustomed to seeing the bruises, though, that she doubted she would recognize herself without them. When they finally faded, she didn't know if she'd even know the face that lie underneath them. Ed was usually angry about something new before the old had really healed. Carol couldn't recall the last time she'd seen herself without any evidence of Ed's handiwork on her face.

Her hair was different, too, now that Andrea had worked her magic on it. The goal had been to make Carol unrecognizable at a glance so that her appearance wouldn't draw immediate attention. Carol was still to lie low, and stay inside as much as possible, but her new hair would allow her to go where she needed to go—to the doctor and to Andrea's office—with less risk of being spotted than if she'd kept it the way that Ed would remember it. It wasn't bad, and it wasn't good. It was just different. Carol's hair had started to turn gray before she'd even completed her thirtieth birthday. She might have given over to vanity and dyed it—as she knew many women did—but Ed would have complained about the money. Even if she'd done it herself with a box of color from the supermarket, leaning over the bathtub in the same manner that Andrea apparently did her hair, Ed would have complained about it. He hated her hair gray, but he'd hate it colored as well. In much the same way, he hated how short she wore it, but he hated it when she let it grow. He didn't like it left unkempt, but he complained if she went to have it done.

Vanity was proof that she was an adulterer.

Of course, Carol was an adulterer. Her daughter was proof of that. Though Ed had never really known about Sophia's origin, Carol doubted that he could've hated the girl any more if he had known about it. She was proof to Carol, though, that she was an adulterer—she couldn't honestly claim innocence in the face of Ed's accusations.

Daryl had been the only man, though, that Carol had been with during her marriage to Ed. And what had happened between her and Daryl hadn't seemed like adultery when it was happening. Carol had always imagined that to cheat on her husband would be a horrible thing. She had been sure it would leave her feeling cheap and worthless. It would leave her miserable and weighed down with guilt.

Oddly enough, what had happened with Daryl hadn't left her feeling that way. She'd felt the sting of guilt at first for her broken vows, but the sting had quickly passed. She'd felt more sorry over losing Daryl after only a couple of nights than she had felt guilty about what they'd done.

The only guilt that had come from that night with Daryl was all the guilt that Carol had felt for years when she'd thought about leaving her daughter—their daughter—on his doorstep.

Carol knew that she left Sophia for her own good. She left Sophia because she feared what Ed would do to her. She left her because Daryl could give her a life—and he clearly had given her a wonderful life—while Carol had nothing to offer her but misery and fear.

Carol felt guilty, though, because she hadn't been a good mother. She hadn't done what mothers were supposed to do. She hadn't cared for her daughter and she hadn't protected her. She hadn't been strong enough to save her daughter and still remain with her. She hadn't been strong enough to get away from Ed. She'd tried—so many times she'd tried—but she hadn't been smart enough to escape him. He'd been right. She wasn't able to take care of herself. She didn't know where to begin. She didn't know how to get on her feet. Carol had given up Sophia because she wasn't strong enough to keep her and to find a way to give her the life that she deserved. She'd given up Sophia because she was weak.

Daryl hadn't called her weak.

Daryl had plenty of opportunities to tell her how he felt about what she'd done. He had plenty of opportunities to tell her how weak she was for having left Sophia—and for not having managed to escape Ed. He had plenty of opportunities to tell her that she was worthless and good for nothing and, frankly, a disgrace to womankind and mothers everywhere.

But he hadn't said any of that.

Daryl had only spoken of things that sounded strange to Carol's ears. He'd told her what a good mother she was for what she'd done. He'd told her how strong she must have had to be to leave Sophia. He'd looked at her—the way that Daryl looked at her—and told her that he couldn't imagine the pain that she'd felt. The pain he so clearly felt simply trying to imagine what she might have experienced.

Daryl felt her pain. He told her he was sorry for what she'd suffered. He offered her comfort—even if he seemed uncomfortable offering it.

And it was a stark contrast to the life she'd led with a man who, upon finding out that his child "just didn't make it," had said so little about her passing that it was as though it had never happened. Ed hadn't cared in the least that Sophia was gone—and that was without even knowing that she wasn't his child—and he'd only seen her loss as just another item to add to a long list of reasons that Carol clearly couldn't do anything right. After all, she couldn't even have a child and, having had one, she couldn't even guarantee the thing would live.

Daryl and Ed were so different that Carol might have believed they were entirely different species.

Daryl made her feel good about herself. He made her believe that there was something in her that was good and worthwhile. Ed had only ever made her wonder why she was still alive—and if she shouldn't thank him the day and hour he finally decided to kill her and rid the world of such a horrible burden.

Daryl had suggested that if she'd come to him, the past nine years would have been different, and Carol was inclined to believe him.

She wondered, too, what it would have been like if she'd shown up on Daryl's doorstep nine years ago and she'd told him that she was pregnant. If she'd told him that she was pretty sure that it was his baby that she was carrying, and that Ed was going to kill her. That he might not kill her that night, and he might not kill her quickly, but he'd kill her eventually. Eventually, under Ed, she'd simply cease to exist.

Carol could almost imagine Daryl bringing her into his home with the same look of concern that he'd worn when he'd gathered up Sophia's carrier. She could almost imagine him doing the same for her that he'd done for Sophia—packing his whole life up to change towns just to protect her.

She could imagine how very different it all would have been. She might have enjoyed her pregnancy—sharing with Daryl each little wonder of the life that was growing inside her. She could imagine telling him about first kicks and she could imagine—just from seeing him with Sophia—the look of absolute joy and adoration that would cross his face when he felt them for himself.

Daryl loved to care for Sophia. He loved to care for the people who meant something to him. Carol could only imagine what it would have been like to have him caring for her all those months. He would have been the kind of man to bring her ice cream and pretzels just because she wanted them. He would've been the kind of man to rub her feet and back—because touch was important. He would have been the kind of man to read bedtime stories that he hated to a baby that wasn't yet born because he'd read somewhere that reading to children helped them develop and become more intelligent.

And when Sophia was born? It wouldn't have been Carol, alone, in the care of the nurses that took pity on her. Daryl would have been right there. Right by her side. And he would have been overwhelmed at the new little life that they'd brought into the world—a life that he'd cared for since she'd been two days old.

A daughter that was his, even if biology might say otherwise.

Daryl was the kind of man who hadn't bothered to question biology because it hadn't mattered.

If Carol could go back in time, she'd have shown up on Daryl's doorstep, herself, and she'd have never missed a moment of her daughter's life. She'd have lived happily with Daryl—wherever it was that they might have gone to escape Ed—and she'd have been the kind of mother that she'd dreamed of being.

Maybe she would have even learned to be a decent wife—since Ed had told her countless times that it was a job she simply wasn't capable of mastering.

There was such a thing as second chances, though, and Daryl had given her that.

She couldn't go back in time. She couldn't get back the years that she'd lost. She couldn't get back missed birthdays and Christmas celebrations. She couldn't make up for all the missed hugs and kisses and bedtime stories. There were school projects she'd never see and plays that she'd never watch. Carol couldn't get time back. Those years were gone and in the past.

But she could have a future with her daughter—her beautiful, funny, spunky, fearless little girl.

Daryl had helped Sophia to become everything that Carol had hoped she would be and then some. He was strict enough with her that a single raise of his eyebrow could get the girl's attention, but he was kind enough that Sophia's obedience didn't come from fear of making him angry...it came from the fear of disappointing him. And that was a different fear entirely.

Sophia was compassionate and warm. She'd forgiven Carol for things that no child her age should even have to know about, less likely forgive, and she'd done it all while wondering if there was something she could do to help heal the abuse that Ed had heaped on Carol's face. Just that morning, before leaving for school, Sophia had brought Carol some things to help her day go better: a comic book about the incredible Hulk, a half used tube of chapstick to help with a spot on her lip that kept cracking open, the offer of all the cherry Tylenol that it was safe to drink, and a unicorn eraser...just because everyone, apparently, would understand the value of having a unicorn eraser in their life.

Sophia didn't know that her sincere gesture would do far more to heal abuse that she couldn't see than that which she could.

Daryl had watched the whole exchange quietly from his spot near the kitchen sink, chewing at his cuticle while he waited on Sophia with her backpack in his hand. He'd handed her a lunchbox that he'd packed himself and then he'd dropped a hand over her shoulder to walk her out to the truck.

And before he'd left? He'd told Carol to have a _good day_.

Carol couldn't recall a time in the past ten or twelve years of their marriage that Ed had worried at all about her day—not even enough to tell her to have a nice one.

Carol was getting a second chance with her daughter.

And she didn't know, exactly, how far second chances extended, but she hoped that they might offer her a second chance at a lot of things. After all, Carol had missed out on a lot of her life.

But for now, there was still laundry to be done and dinner to make because it was the least that Carol could do for having been shown such kindness.


	18. Chapter 18

**AN: Here we go, another chapter here.**

 **I hope that you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

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When Daryl got home from work, Sophia coming in with him since she spent her afternoons in the office at the shop, the smell of the house was the first thing that greeted him. The house was new—practically brand new—but in the short time that Daryl and Sophia had lived there, it had begun to take on the lived-in smell that the presence of humans and all their belongings brought to a place. It had taken on the smell, a little, of stale smoke, and it still retained the somewhat surprising smell of fresh paint in places. But when Daryl and Sophia walked through the door, he didn't smell any of those things. He smelled _clean_. He smelled the nice, fresh smell that lasted a too-short amount of time after any deep scrub. He smelled fabric softener and lemon cleaner blending together in a cloud of clean.

And besides the clean, he smelled something cooking that made his stomach growl immediately—and loudly enough that it embarrassed him.

Carol met them at the door and took Sophia's backpack and lunchbox. She immediately took the girl's lunchbox to the kitchen to start cleaning it out in preparation for the next time she'd need it—though the weekend would mean that it would sit, ready, for a few days.

"Sophia? Would you like to go wash your hands for supper?" Carol asked. Sophia, not as shocked by the change in her environment as Daryl was, simply nodded her head and took the suggestion that was given to her. Daryl was the only one finding it a little difficult to comprehend what it was to come home to food prepared and a house that wasn't in the same condition that he'd left it in that morning. Carol glanced at him over her shoulder while she was unnecessarily rinsing out the lunchbox. "Do you want to wash your hands, Daryl? Change your clothes? Is there anything—you like to do to get ready for supper?"

Daryl laughed nervously to himself.

"Usually—I'm makin' supper to get ready for supper," Daryl said.

He thought he saw a look cross Carol's face, but he didn't have time to really observe it before she turned her face away from him and set herself to drying the recently washed item in her hands.

"I hope you don't mind," Carol said. "You had everything here and—it's a long day when there's nothing you can do."

Daryl laughed to himself again.

"Who the hell's gonna mind you cleaned the house from floor to ceiling and cooked—what is that?" Daryl walked over to the crock pot, but the closer he got to it and the stronger the smell became, the more his stomach loudly protested the fact he was putting off eating.

"Beef stew," Carol said. "Comfort food for me, I guess."

"Hell, smells like I'm already comfortable with it," Daryl commented.

Carol turned around to put the lunchbox with Sophia's backpack in her "school corner". The expression she wore now was one of clearly being pleased.

"Go wash your hands," Carol said. "Whatever it is you'd like to do to get more comfortable. Then we'll eat."

Daryl nodded his head, accepting her suggestion, and went to his own little half-bath. He washed his hands and, for good measure, he washed his face. He felt like he should _do_ something. Carol seemed to expect that he'd have some kind "unwinding" experience between work and supper—one that didn't involve the rush to get that supper on the table—so he took off his shoes and socks and spent a moment dawdling in his room to pretend that he was doing something that might satisfy her expectations.

When he came back, Sophia was sitting at the table with a big bowl of food in front of her. There were two other unclaimed bowls of food on the table, and Carol was pouring juice into a glass.

"Sophia wants juice," Carol said. "Can she have that?"

"Yeah," Daryl said. "She can have whatever at supper. Just water after, though. She don't sleep good if she has too much sugar too late."

Carol smiled at him and nodded her acceptance.

"You'd like a beer?" Carol asked. "Or—I made tea."

"Sweet tea?" Daryl asked.

"Is there any other kind?" Carol responded teasingly, raising her eyebrows at him.

"Tea," Daryl said. "But—I can pour it myself. Weren't expectin' you to serve me."

"I know you weren't," Carol said. "Sit down."

Daryl sat down at the table and Carol switched the bowls, apparently thinking that he'd taken the wrong bowl, and then offered him a glass of tea. Many times, when they ate with Merle and Andrea, Andrea served Merle his food and drink. It wasn't that she thought Merle was incapable of getting his own, it was simply that Merle often said that it made him feel like a king or something when she did it—and she did it because Andrea _liked_ for Merle to feel like a king. Every now and again, Daryl had seen Merle serve Andrea the same way.

Daryl had done a pretty decent job, throughout his life, of blocking out most of his earliest memories. It had become almost a conscious practice for him. When something came back, he simply forced himself to block it again—to ignore it. It had happened, but that didn't mean that he wanted to relive it. As a result, he actually had very few clear memories of his parents. Their faces were fuzzy in his mind. His memories of them came in snatches and they mostly consisted of "events" and not really anything else. They weren't models of relationships and life. If anything, they had served Daryl as models of what _not_ to do. Merle and Andrea had been the only couple that Daryl had observed, live and in person, living together as husband and wife. They weren't perfect—but he figured that they did OK. They were both relatively happy and, though they fought, the fights never came to blows and were resolved fairly easily.

Daryl, however, had never actually been in a relationship. The thought of them inexplicably made his heart pound and made his lungs feel constricted. Part of him wanted what Merle and Andrea seemed to have, but the other part of him feared drawing what his parents had out of the grab bag of life.

The sensation that settled in his chest, then, when he'd thanked Carol for the food and drink, and she'd settled down in front of her own bowl was an odd one. Daryl feared it—irrationally or not—but he enjoyed it too.

"What happened at school today?" Carol asked Sophia. "Be careful, sweetheart, that's a little warm. I cooled it down, but you should still blow on it."

"It was just school," Sophia said with a shrug, biting carefully at her food now that she knew it was hot—the steam rising off it clearly not enough indication for her before Carol's words.

"Do you like school?" Carol asked, clearly trying to pry a little more out of Sophia who would rather focus on her food at the moment.

"I don't like math," Sophia said. "But I like—I like reading a lot. And writing, but mostly the reading what's already been wrote. Miss Maggie just has us read little books, though. They're not the big ones that I like. You can read them in like—five minutes."

Daryl laughed to himself.

"There ain't nothin' wrong with a five minute story, Soph," Daryl offered.

"No, but if you like something longer," Carol said, "there's nothing wrong with that either."

"We get stickers for our reading during reading time," Sophia said. "I've got the most stickers in the whole class. Because most everybody else reads just the one book during reading time, but I read like...well, really I read a whole lot of 'em. Uncle Merle got me a book today. It was there for after when I was done with my homework."

"Your Aunt Andrea brought that by," Daryl said. "Your Uncle Merle is practically allergic to bookstores. And she said there's a whole bunch of 'em with the same characters. So if you like it, you better let me tell her that you want some of the rest of 'em to read too."

"Did you read it?" Carol asked Sophia.

Sophia nodded her head.

"I didn't get to finish it," Sophia said. "Because I had a lot of math homework and I'm pretty slow at getting it done. It's about knights and castles, though, so I like it. It's about a knight that comes to life."

"He comes to life?" Carol asked. "Like—he wasn't alive?"

Sophia shook her head.

"He was a toy," Sophia said. "He wasn't real, but then he was. I like that. I like him. But I left the book there for reading after school. After I finish my homework. Daddy put it in the file cabinet and said nobody was gonna bother it 'fore I got back to it."

"I can guarantee you that ain't nobody there gonna bother that book," Daryl said. "Knowin' them? You read more books in your story time at school today than half of them's read in their whole lives."

"Well it makes me very sad for them," Sophia said. "Because they won't know what the castle's like and they won't know—that knights can come to life if you really want them to."

"You know it ain't real, though," Daryl said. "It's just a story, Soph. Just make believe. Toys don't come to life."

Sophia eyed him across the table and finally nodded her head. It looked to be more of a sympathetic nod. It looked to be more of an effort for the girl to appease him. She was thinking "poor Daddy who doesn't know that toys really can come to life if you believe hard enough."

Daryl left her alone about it. She would figure out the clear dividing line between reality and fantasy soon enough. There was no harm in letting her enjoy the blurry space a little longer.

Daryl sat back and enjoyed his dinner. He reminded himself to tell Carol it was good, but he figured that the fact that he ate his way through two helpings of it probably let her know that he enjoyed it. While he ate, he let Carol and Sophia carry the biggest part of the conversation. They talked about books—their favorite ones—and Carol seemed able to keep Sophia going better than Daryl ever had been when it came to stories.

Daryl let his mind wander, watching them, to what it might have been like. If Carol had come to him, if she'd showed up outside his door one evening, and she'd told him about Ed, and she'd told him about Sophia, what would it have been like? What might it have been like to come home to a meal like this, if not every day, at least once in a while? What would it have been like to share everything about Sophia with her—the good and the bad?

What would it have been like to have been her husband? To have loved her actively for all these years instead of simply considering her something like a ghost in his life?

It didn't matter, of course. Those years were gone and none of them were getting them back, but it didn't stop Daryl from thinking about it, especially in light of what he'd seen that day when his brother had interacted with Ed.

Daryl didn't think he'd have ever been the _best_ husband in the world, but he was sure that he could have been better than Ed. He'd have understood, at the very least, that sometimes accidents happen. Sometimes wrecks happen. If they didn't, after all, he wouldn't have made a living off of them that had kept him relatively comfortable throughout his life.

He wouldn't have been the best husband, just as he probably hadn't been the best father, but he figured that he'd have been better than what she had. On all counts, he figured he was at least better than Ed.

When night rolled around, Carol offered to read Sophia her story. Sophia accepted, and this time she didn't seem to need Daryl there and lurking in the corner. She took her goodnight kiss from him as soon as she settled into her bed and she allowed him to leave the room. She was OK, for the time being, with being alone with Carol—and Daryl thought that maybe they needed that.

So he'd gone to the kitchen, checked for something to clean even though there was nothing, and then he'd settled down in his chair with a beer and considered the television that he rarely turned on for himself. He only realized that he'd never actually turned it on when Carol came into the room.

"This looks like a great show," Carol said. "Is it...one of your favorites?"

"Thinkin'," Daryl said, laughing to himself when he realized he was watching the blank screen. "Mostly watchin' the show in my head, I guess."

"Is it a good show?" Carol asked, sitting down on the couch. She laughed to herself. "It's got to be better than most of what's on television right now."

"It's all over the place," Daryl offered. He sucked in a breath. "You oughta know that Ed come by the shop today."

"Looking for me?" Carol asked.

"Looking for the car," Daryl said. "Merle talked to him but I eavesdropped. He's gonna sell the car for parts. He mentioned you, though."

"Did Merle say anything?" Carol asked.

"You can calm down," Daryl said. "Merle's an asshole, but he ain't gonna rat you out for shit. He ain't no rat. Just—let Ed run his mouth. Shut him down a couple times when he thought Merle was gonna commiserate with his ass over Andrea. Merle ain't sorry he married Andrea and he ain't never gonna be."

"She seems like a good person," Carol offered.

"She is," Daryl said. "Got a lot of layers. Like most people, I reckon. But even if she weren't a good person? Merle woulda just left her ass years ago. Wouldn'ta gone the way that Ed went. It just don't sit right for Merle. Me either. Hittin' on somebody just because they might not...might not be your match."

"Because you've seen it?" Carol asked.

Daryl's stomach turned. The conversation that he had with Carol after what they'd done in a motel years ago had led him to uncover precious few details about his life. He'd told her just enough to somewhat answer her questions about the scars on his back—scars he couldn't hide from her eyes or her hands. It had been enough, though. It was more than he really liked to say to anyone.

"I've seen enough," Daryl said, hoping his vague answer would be enough to soothe her. She sat back against the back of the couch and sighed.

"Me too," she said.

"Supper was good," Daryl said, feeling antsy and like he needed to change the atmosphere back to what it had been before he'd mentioned Ed. "Sophia—really seems to be taking a shine to you."

Carol smiled to herself.

"She's wonderful," Carol said. "Just...wonderful. She's so...amazing."

Daryl smiled.

"She's a good kid," Daryl said.

"She's got you to thank for that," Carol said.

"She's got her to thank for that," Daryl said. "Sophia's a good kid, but it ain't me that can take credit for it. Sophia is Sophia. I just—keep her fed and try to help her out when I can." Daryl sucked his teeth. "If we ain't responsible for the sins of the father, then the father can't take credit for the rest."

Carol hummed.

"Maybe some of that's true," Carol said. "But I think Sophia would have been very different if..." She broke off, the statement unfinished. Daryl didn't need her to finish it. He knew what the ending was. Sophia would have been very different if she'd been raised by Ed. Maybe that was true. Certainly her experiences would have been different, but Daryl couldn't say that Sophia would have been a different person. He had no way of knowing that.

"Don't know nothing about what didn't happen," Daryl said. "Just a lot of what ifs. Don't matter anyway."

"But I've thought about them a lot," Carol said. "What if—I can't really ever get away from him? What if—I'd left him earlier? What if—the last nine years had been so different and this...this was what it was like?"

Daryl swallowed. He couldn't and wouldn't blame the feeling in his stomach on the food. The food had been good. It was something else that was troubling his gut.

"You ain't going back if you don't want," Daryl said. "There ain't no need in worrying about what the last nine years mighta been. They weren't that. They weren't this...that's all that matters."

"They weren't," Carol agreed. "But...that doesn't mean that thinking about that hasn't made me think a lot about the next nine."


	19. Chapter 19

**AN: Here we go, another chapter here.**

 **I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

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"I can't say...I haven't thought about it," Daryl said. "Ever since I went back to that motel and you weren't there? I thought about it. Thought about you. Raisin' Soph? How was I not gonna think about it. She looks like you. There was always those eyes staring back at me. Remindin' me of a woman that I left in a motel room so many years ago...Soph was the only proof I even had that I didn't make the whole damn thing up."

"You didn't make it up," Carol said. "Of course I thought about you. When I was pregnant I thought—at least a couple of times—what it would've been like to be with you. I haven't stopped thinking about you since then." She sighed. "Not a day has gone by since Sophia was born that I haven't thought about her. I used to—on her birthday? I used to—always do something small. Private. All by myself. Maybe it was just lighting a candle and saying a prayer that I'd done the right thing and she was happy and her life was _wonderful,_ but I never missed a birthday. Not a single one."

Daryl lit a cigarette for himself and tasted the beer that was almost warm enough to taste exactly like he'd imagine piss would taste if he were inclined to drink it. The beer that Carol had gotten for herself when they'd moved to the table was untouched. It was sweating in front of her on the table, void of its label, but Daryl wasn't sure she'd raised it to her lips the whole time she'd had it there.

"Sophia ain't never wanted nothin' big for her birthday," Daryl said. "Didn't never want a party. Didn't want to invite no friends. Every year since she got big enough to know what I was askin', I'd ask her the same thing—how she wanted to celebrate." He laughed to himself. "Every year she'd want the same damn thing. We'd take a trip to Merle and Andrea's to spend the weekend. There'd be cake. Whatever Sophia wanted to eat. She'd pick a movie that we all had to watch together. She'd open her presents when she got ready. Then three stories before bed. One read by each of us. Andrea had to read last because she's got the best story voice."

Carol smiled to herself.

"It sounds like a nice birthday," Carol said.

"Same thing every year, though," Daryl said. "Christmas, too. It's just the same thing. This year? We'd just moved here. Just moved in. She was so happy. We're ten minutes from their house. She can have birthdays whenever she wants. That's how she sees it."

"As long as it makes her happy," Carol said, "then I think it's the best kind of birthday and Christmas celebration there could be. I would enjoy it."

"It's nothing special," Daryl said. "I mean—it ain't like a big thing with...fireworks or some shit. Hell, I don't know. I don't even know what you're supposed to do for your kid's birthday. I've taken Sophia to a couple of birthday parties for kids at school, but most of 'em the moms just tell me to leave her. They call me to pick her up. I guess they feel kinda odd when they're all around and watching the kids and then there's just _me_ hangin' out there. It's like I don't belong with 'em, ya know? Like—dads don't belong at the little tea parties and shit. And I reckon I don't. But I been Mama just as much as I been Daddy for eight years." Carol dropped her face into her hands and Daryl slid the roll of toilet paper closer to her. She didn't take it for a moment, she simply used her hands to hide her face from him. "Hey," he said. "I'm sorry. That was a shit thing to say."

"No," Carol said from behind her hands. "No—it was absolutely the only thing to say. Because it's true. It's true. And you've done such a wonderful job at it, but you never should've had to do that."

To help her out, Daryl unrolled a length of the toilet paper, wound it around his hand to give it some structure, and offered it to her, rubbing it against the backs of her hands until she finally pulled them down and took it. She mopped at her face and blew her nose before she accepted the second section of paper that he offered her.

"It ain't that serious," Daryl said. "I ain't the only single parent I ever met."

Carol shook her head at him.

"I don't know if you'll ever understand," Carol said. "I don't know if it's even fair to ask you to understand. But I really thought—I was doing the best thing for Sophia. That night? Daryl—it would have hurt less to leave...to leave my _heart_ outside the door. But I thought it was the best thing for her. I thought it was her chance at—well—at the life she _has_."

Daryl's stomach twisted violently. If he hadn't known better, he might have thought he was struck with some kind of emergency situation—appendicitis or something else like that he'd heard people talk about—but it wasn't that. He swallowed against the almost unbearable ache in his throat.

"You're killin' me," Daryl said.

Carol looked at him.

"What?" She asked.

"You," Daryl said. "You're fuckin' killin' me right now! I understand, OK? I told you a thousand times in three days I understand. I didn't know what it was, OK? I didn't know. I had some ideas, but I weren't sure. But I understood. From the time I folded up that letter, I _understood_. And by the—second week that Soph was here? I understood it even better. 'Cause if somethin' had come after her? Threatened her? Fuck—I weren't never like Merle. I didn't start shit just to see if I'd win a fight. But I'da pulled some son of a bitch's throat out with my hands if he'da tried anything."

Daryl stopped. He had to stop. He couldn't continue on.

He did understand. Because whatever it had been that had scared Carol, whatever it was that she'd written about in the letter as driving her to do the most painful thing she'd ever had to do, had scared Daryl too. Only for Daryl, it had been something unknown. It had been something that went bump in the night. It was something that he couldn't see and couldn't name, but he always feared.

Now he knew what it was—or who it was—but it couldn't take away the fear that he'd felt, most of the time at some ungodly hour of the morning, that something might try to hurt the kid that relied entirely upon him for _everything_.

Daryl shook his head at Carol and let himself calm down. He tried to wash down the ache in his throat with some of the warm beer. He found his voice again.

"I forgave you before I ever even blamed you," Daryl said. "It's you who's gotta forgive yourself. Don't nobody else hold nothin' against you."

"I don't know if I can ever forgive me," Carol said after a moment.

"Then that's somethin' you gotta work on," Daryl said. "Nobody told you to feel that way."

He drummed his fingertip on the table and reached for another cigarette. He figured he might try, tonight, to smoke away some of the feelings that he didn't care for having. Too many feelings just got him all turned around—and he was already feeling pretty twisted up as it was.

"He don't got no idea you're here," Daryl said. "And he ain't gonna find out. If he's crazy enough to go after anybody, it's Andrea he's goin' after. Merle's on the watch for that."

"Until he figures out that you and Merle are brothers," Carol said. "Sooner or later, he's going to figure it out."

"Papers will be filed by then," Daryl said. "Andrea'll have him served by Monday evening."

"I don't want you thinking that I came here for you to save me," Carol said. "That—I just expected that from you. For you to save me and take it all away."

"You didn't come no damn where," Daryl said. "I brought you here. You were gonna skip town. That ain't on you, it's on me."

"Maybe I should still skip town," Carol said.

"Ten minutes ago you was talkin' about the next nine years of your life," Daryl said, not making eye contact with her because he couldn't. "Kinda made it sound like—I was part of that. Like Sophia was part of it."

"I can't bring Ed to Sophia," Carol said. "Not after everything else."

"Ed don't get to Sophia," Daryl said. "You still want to go?"

He looked at Carol then. She was staring at him rather intently. She shook her head.

"No," she said. "I don't. I didn't want to go nine years ago. In fact? I think the last time that I actually did something I wanted to do? It was when I was meeting you in that little motel."

Daryl nodded his head.

"Then you don't go," Daryl said. "And Ed don't get you. And he don't get Sophia. What he gets is a divorce, a restraining order, and as much damn jail time as Andrea can swing if he thinks he's tryin' to get around that shit." Daryl laughed to himself. "Gets himself a big ass girlfriend named Bubba or some shit like that."

Carol laughed a little in spite of herself.

"What do I do?" Carol asked. "I can't hide forever."

"You don't gotta," Daryl said. "Just a lil' bit longer. Just until Andrea says it's good to come out."

"And then?" Carol asked. "Then what happens?"

Daryl swallowed and shrugged his shoulders. He focused his attention on the cigarette that he was smoking too quickly. He enjoyed the tightness that smoking too hard and too fast caused his lungs because it gave them a _reason_ to feel as constricted as they'd felt since the conversation had begun. When the cigarette was dead, Daryl snubbed it out in the ashtray and got up to get himself a fresh beer out of the refrigerator. He bought them—he deserved to drink them cold. He took the top off of it and flicked it into the trash can under the sink before he leaned against the counter and looked at Carol.

"What do you want to do, Carol?" Daryl asked.

"Nobody's asked me that before," Carol said.

"Well I'm askin' you now," Daryl said. "When Ed's outta the picture. When he's got a restraining order against his ass and you don't have to worry about him anymore. What do you want? You was talkin' about them next nine years. How you want them to look?"

Carol shifted around in her chair a little uncomfortably. With the urge to move her body, she finally settled for turning to face Daryl, sitting sideways in her chair.

"I want to be a Mama," Carol said. "I want a chance at that. At everything I haven't gotten to do with her. For her."

"You got it," Daryl said, swallowing down some of his beer. He was surprised at how good it tasted cold after he'd been nursing the warm one for so long. It was so good that he thought he might have another. He might have two more, even, and then sleep like a baby on the couch that was a good deal more comfortable than most people gave couches credit for being. "What else you want?" When Carol didn't immediately answer him, Daryl continued. "You want me to be part of that? The next nine years? Part of your life too?"

"Of course," Carol said. "You're Sophia's father. I'd never, ever take her away from you."

"I know that," Daryl said. "I wouldn't let you. I meant—you want me to be part of your life? Not just because of Sophia."

"It isn't fair for me to say that," Carol said. "It isn't fair for me to make some kind of decision like that about your life, Daryl. I come with a lot of baggage."

Daryl laughed to himself.

"You ain't even begun to see the trunks I got," Daryl said.

"I woudn't want you to think it was some kind of rebound thing," Carol said. "Some kind of—looking for someone because I don't have anyone thing."

"I think we crossed that bridge nine years ago in a nasty ass lil' motel," Daryl said. "Same as forgivin' yourself, I ain't asked you to justify nothing. I just asked you how you see them nine years. What's on your mind? Just let me know—so I can get my mind straight. Don't explain it to me. I do alright without explanations."

Carol took her time and Daryl let her have it. He enjoyed the coolness of his beer and the bite of it on his tongue. He enjoyed, too, the relaxation that came along with it as it hit his bloodstream. He could practically feel some of the knots working their way out of his back.

"I'd like to give it a try," Carol said finally. "If that's what you want."

Daryl's stomach did an odd sort of flip—entirely different than the gut-wrenching pain it had produced for him earlier. He licked his lips and nodded his head gently.

"I could give it a try," he said. "But... _but_...I gotta have your word that—if we give this a try? All of it? You ain't skippin' town. You ain't runnin' out on things. Soph an' me? We done alright these last eight years. Maybe we ain't done the best, but we done alright. I don't wanna disrupt her life. I don't wanna see her get hurt." He sucked in a breath and shook his head. "And I ain't lookin' to get hurt neither. Not again. Maybe it was wrong of me to feel that way, but I got my feelin's pretty hurt when you up and left that motel and I didn't know where you went or what happened. I don't wanna do that again."

Carol shook her head.

"If you don't want me to leave? I won't leave," Carol said. "You've got my word on that."

Daryl nodded his head and drained the last of the beer from the bottle. He wiped his mouth with his hand.

"These beers ain't bad cold," he said. "Refreshing. Gonna have another and then I'm goin' to sleep. You want a cold beer?"

"So does that mean we are or we aren't?" Carol asked with a quiet laugh.

"Havin' another beer?" Daryl asked.

"Trying this," Carol said. "Whatever...it is."

Daryl nodded his head.

"I guess it means we are," Daryl said. "I'm just—not sure yet what that looks like. Ya know?"

Carol nodded her head.

"I know," she said. "Me either."

"We got time, though," Daryl said. "Cold beer?"

"Sure," Carol said. "Sure—I'll take a cold beer. Do you, by chance, play cards?"

"Long as it's Go Fish, I do," Daryl said. "They in the drawer behind you. Set 'em up."

Carol reached around and found the cards. Daryl watched her a moment as she emptied them out of the box—not commenting on the fact that they were brightly colored and unicorn themed like most of the things in Daryl's home—and shuffled them in her hands.

"Is this what trying this looks like?" Carol asked, dealing out the cards as Daryl sat down, placing a beer in front of each of them and moving the warm ones out of the way.

"Good a start as any," Daryl said, taking up the cards that she offered him. "You got any Jacks?"


	20. Chapter 20

**AN: Here we go, another chapter here.**

 **I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

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On Tuesday, Daryl had one detour to make after work, Sophia in tow, and then he headed straight for home. When he got there, Carol had dinner prepared and they all ate together—just like it was something that they had done every day for years, and just like it was something they could expect to do for years to come. Sophia told them both all about her day, and she let them both tuck her into bed. Together, for the first time, they read her a story, leaving Carol to do the dialogue because she entertained Sophia with funny voices while Daryl read all the paragraphs surrounding Carol's words.

It was the most incredibly _normal_ experience of Daryl's life. And he was beginning to like it more than he felt was even reasonable.

But with his enjoyment came the gnawing feeling that he'd always had with Sophia—with anything that was his.

 _He had to protect it. And he'd do whatever he had to do to make sure it was protected._

Maybe it was a Dixon character flaw that had started with Daryl and Merle, because he knew his old man had never felt the need to protect, because the two of them shared the trait. Daryl remembered Merle getting in a fight once just because they'd been at a show at a drag strip –Nitro Night when Merle had wanted Andrea to see the cars because he was sure they would amaze her—and some guy had come onto Andrea in a way that she hadn't really liked down by the concessions. The man had grabbed at Andrea, too drunk for his own good, and Merle had laid him out on the ground before his brain ever caught up with his hands. It had only been Andrea's quick talking that had kept Merle from going to jail over the event.

Daryl had never had to be in any such fight, and he was grateful for that, but he could feel something looming over him—and he knew that "something" was Ed Peletier.

As soon as they'd left Sophia's room for the night, Carol had gone directly to the sink to start washing the dishes that she'd "neglected" so that she could spend time with Sophia after dinner and be entertained by the girl's desires to show her the few meagre possessions that she actually liked holding onto. Daryl took up a towel to dry, hoping to let Carol know that he didn't expect her to handle the tasks around his home like she was a new live-in maid.

"I talked to Andrea today," Daryl said. Carol hummed at him to prod him into finishing his statement. "She said that Ed's been served. Papers in hand. He's got the restraining order and he knows that he's bein' requested a divorce."

"So he knows I'm here?" Carol asked.

Daryl shook his head.

"She done some digging or done some planting or something," Daryl said. "Said he thinks you're outta town. Thinks you're somewhere safe. For the time being, he don't know where you are. Probably just figures he's gonna see you when it comes time to go to court—if that's how things play out. I don't know all the details."

Carol was holding her breath and she let it out with the assurance that Ed wasn't, probably, actively looking for her just yet. He might not actively look for her. It could go a few ways. He might simply turn things around, decide to make himself the best victim he could, and focus on the fact that he was done with this wife he had who had practically ruined his whole life. He might go the direction of "good riddance" and simply use his status as newly single to feed his need to feel victimized. On the other hand, he might simply lose his mind, decide he wasn't letting go of that which he felt he had a right to, and decide to try to find Carol.

At this point, Ed was unpredictable—but he was also being somewhat watched thanks to a few strings that Andrea had pulled with a man who she'd know for a long time, and who actually used to be a beau of hers, on the local police force.

"Do you think it's safe?" Carol asked.

Daryl shrugged his shoulders and nodded his head.

"I think it's safe," he said. "But it's always a good idea to be cautious. At least for a bit. At least until we see what he's up to."

Carol shook her head, more at her own thoughts than anything that Daryl had offered her.

"I was going to ask you if Sophia could stay with me," Carol said. "After school. I thought—she might like to come home when you picked her up. I could make lunch for you before you go back to work and then—she could spend a little time with me."

"She could do that," Daryl said. "I think—she'd like that. I know she don't like spendin' most her day at school and the other part of it just hanging around the shop. She's done it damn near all her life at one shop or another, but one of these days she's gonna get tired of it."

"But if he's out there?" Carol said. "If he finds me? It isn't safe."

"So we make sure he don't find you," Daryl said. "And we make sure that if he does? You're ready for him."

"That's worked so well for me before," Carol said.

Daryl put the drying towel down and walked away to get the item that he'd brought in and tucked in his room through dinner. He brought it back and put it the handgun and the bullets on the table. Carol watched him and furrowed her brow at him.

"A gun?" She asked.

"An insurance policy," Daryl said.

"I don't know how to shoot that," Carol said.

"Figured you might not," Daryl said. "I'm pullin' strings I don't have yet on a name my boss knows I have for gettin' shit done—gonna have to work late a couple of nights so you're gonna be here with Soph at any rate. But tomorrow? I'm takin' you out to a place and you're gonna learn to shoot it."

Carol abandoned the dishes. She dried her hands and walked over to look at the gun like Daryl had thrown a live snake in the middle of the table.

"I couldn't shoot anyone, Daryl," Carol said. "I don't want to kill anyone. Not even Ed."

Daryl swallowed and nodded his head.

"I know that," Daryl said. "Hell—I understand that. I don't think most of us want to ever do somethin' like that. And I ain't askin' you to do it. I'm askin' you to learn _how_ to shoot it. That's all. Have it in case you need it." He sighed. "Listen—Andrea carries one in her purse. She's licensed to carry it. You don't even know she's got it, but she knows she does. I got one in my truck. Merle does too. None of us have never shot nobody—but we've used it to threaten if it was needed. Remind someone that it was a possibility if they didn't clean their act up." Daryl sat down at the table. "Drivin' back and forth to Merle and Andrea's when Soph was little was rough. Sometimes it'd be night and I'd be alone. Haulin' her back and forth with me every time I had to go in to pee. Ain't sayin' there ain't plenty a' people who done it, just sayin' it makes for a long night. One night? We left way too late and we come through a truck stop. Had to get gas. There weren't nobody there but us, a trucker that was eatin', and the guy what run the place. I was pumpin' gas and another car come up. There was a man and a woman in the car—just gettin' gas I thought. She was stumblin' around a little. Figured she had too much to drink. Got to thinkin' maybe she was strung out on something. She come over to where I was and I had the door open to keep the light on—wantin' to keep an eye on Soph 'cause she was small. Woman looked in and started tellin' me how damn cute she was...normal shit. But then it started to get uncomfortable. Went to close the door an' she blocked it. He come over wantin' to say somethin' about Soph. They weren't actin' dangerous—not like some movie might paint it, but it made me uncomfortable. Finally I kinda said I had to go. Shoved 'em back and closed the door. Lit outta there. But the whole time? I was feelin' a little bit safer knowin' I could have my hand on my gun in a couple seconds. They made a snatch for my kid? I'da dealt with the damn consequences, but I'da done it with my kid OK."

"You could've called the police," Carol said. "Asked for help."

"Help can be late comin'," Daryl said. "I'm a firm believer in God helps them that help themselves."

Carol laughed nervously.

"I don't think God would condemn shooting people," Carol said.

"I'd live with them consequences too," Daryl said. "Won't be the only thing I gotta answer for, you can mark my words on that."

"I don't like the idea of having a gun around Sophia," Carol said.

"Soph ain't no stranger to guns," Daryl said. "She knows the rules. You don't touch it if there ain't somebody with you. Period. That's the number one rule. Beyond that? We've taken her to a range before. They teach her how to handle one—not loaded. Never put a finger on the trigger. Never point it at nothin' and nobody. She's young, but she ain't afraid of guns. Respects 'em, but ain't afraid of 'em. Knows they can't hurt her just layin' on the table or hangin' out in Andrea's purse."

"Andrea's had her around her gun?" Carol asked.

"Andrea's had you around her gun," Daryl said. "Told you, she's licensed to carry. She ain't never fired it that it weren't on a range, but it's there." Daryl shook his head at her. "Ain't sayin' it to hurt your feelings, but I've had to make decisions about how my kid was gonna be raised. I knew she was gonna be around guns. Was part of her life. I treated the guns like I treat everything else that comes up. I'd rather her learn the truth—and the right way from me—than go trying to find things out on her own. Soph ain't gonna touch this gun. I could leave it here, right in the middle of this table, and she wouldn't touch it. I ain't gonna do that, but I _could_."

Carol touched her face. She rubbed the back of her neck and then the front of it. She touched her face again. Daryl watched her hands. He could read people well enough to know that she was working through something—and he could read her well enough to know when she started to calm down.

"I don't want to kill, Daryl," Carol said. "Not even Ed."

"That's what the training is for," Daryl said. "Teach you how to handle a gun. We'll be inside. Andrea trusts the guy that owns the range. Went down to talk to him. No chance of you gettin' spotted. You know how to handle the gun? Feel comfortable with it? Chances are you ain't never gonna fire it off a range. Might use it to threaten Ed if it comes down to that. Most the time it's the threat that works the best. Long as they can see you mean what you say? They'll usually back off. But if you gotta fire it—and if you gotta fire it, you will, because pullin' that triggers gonna seem a lot more possible if you think he's comin' after Soph—you can shoot him to wound. Buy you time to call them cops you was talkin' about. Ask for the help you was hoping for."

Carol stared at the gun. She reached a hand toward it and then pulled it back.

"Is it loaded?" She asked.

"It ain't loaded," Daryl assured her. "Can't do nothin' right now. Nothing more'n a hunk of metal. You could probably club me with it, but that's about it."

She reached out her hand, then, and took the gun. She felt the weight of it in her hand. Daryl saw her hands shaking as she held it. The shake slowly subsided and she turned it around in her hands, simply feeling it there.

"It's light," she said.

"That's why I picked that one," Daryl said.

"I don't want to kill anyone," she repeated. "But—I wouldn't let him touch Sophia."

"I know you wouldn't. And I don't want you to kill nobody either," Daryl said. "That ain't what this is about. It's about knowing you got something when I ain't here. It's about you sleeping a little better and feelin' a little more secure. It ain't about killin' nobody at all. It would make me a lot more comfortable too. If Sophia's here with you and I know you got a little more insurance against Ed doing anything."

Carol looked at him and, finally, nodded her head.

"They'll teach me how to use it?" She asked.

"They will," Daryl said. "I will. You wanna practice more—we'll get you out there."

Carol nodded her head.

"Tomorrow?" She asked.

"I'ma work a half day," Daryl said. "Then we headed out there. Friday? I'ma work late to finish up some of the stuff that ain't got done. Make sure I don't let nothin' slip. So you'll be stayin' in with Soph."

Carol nodded her head again.

"OK," she said, returning the gun to the table. "Let's do it."


	21. Chapter 21

**AN: Here we go, another chapter here.**

 **I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

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Daryl had stepped out to take care of a few things at work after dropping Carol and Sophia back at the house. Carol felt a little more confident with the gun than she had, and that surprised her. She had hit several of her targets—most of them, actually—even though she wasn't under the impression that they hadn't made it easy for her. They'd started her on big, close targets that she could hit more easily. As their time there had worn on, they'd made it a little more challenging. It was all to build up her confidence, and Carol was well aware of that, but it had worked.

While she'd been practicing, Daryl and Sophia had served as her cheerleaders. She hadn't expected the feeling of hearing the two of them cheering her on to make her swell so much, but it had been nice to have someone believing in her—even for just a few minutes and even just for the sole purpose of building her up a little.

Now she was cooking dinner and she had Sophia with her, standing on her stool beside the sink, to help her with the little jobs that Carol kept giving her. Getting Sophia to help with the meal slowed things down, but it gave Carol the opportunity to offer the girl the same kind of encouragement that Sophia had been offering her throughout the day.

"OK, be careful," Carol said, reaching her hand out to cover Sophia's. "Remember? Keep your fingers curled in like this. That way, while you're cutting, you won't accidentally cut your fingertips. We just want to eat the vegetables, not Sophia."

Sophia giggled at Carol and Carol couldn't help but laugh with her. She kept her fingers over Sophia's so that if the small knife the girl was using—slowly but with all the mastery that an eight year old could muster up—slipped, Carol's fingers would catch the blade before Sophia's did.

When Sophia made it through the carrots that she'd been cutting up, Carol gestured to the sink and took the knife from her daughter's hands.

"Wash up," Carol said. "I'll get these going and then there's nothing to do but wait for it to finish. And wait for your Daddy to get home."

"Can I ask you something?" Sophia asked. "Mama?" She added the word as something of an afterthought. When she said it, Carol could still hear that it was strange to Sophia. It was something she wasn't used to saying. It was the same thing that Carol had gone through whenever her relationship status had changed and she had to adjust to calling Ed her "husband". It would be, she supposed, the same thing she'd go through when she figured out what she and Daryl were going to end up being—if they were anything at all—and she had to learn to adjust to that.

"You can ask me anything," Carol said. "And I mean that. I'll do my best to—to answer anything you want."

Carol handed Sophia a towel to dry her hands and Sophia hopped down off her stool before she went to the fridge and took out the jug of juice. She offered it to Carol as a request that she pour her some.

"That's what you wanted to ask me?" Carol asked, taking the juice and laughing to herself. "If you could have something to drink?"

"No," Sophia said. "I just want the juice. But I wanted to ask—are you going to stay with us?"

"I'm here," Carol said. "I told you. I'm not leaving your life again, Sophia. I'm here for good."

Sophia nodded her head.

"But are you going to _stay_ with us?" Sophia asked. "Or are you—going to go somewhere else? Like Uncle Merle and Aunt Andrea?"

Carol made the juice for Sophia and she handed her the cup before she returned the jug to the fridge.

"I don't know the answer to that, Sophia," Carol said. "Not right now. There's a lot that your Daddy and I have to talk about before I know that for sure. But—I'd like to stay with you."

"You can," Sophia assured her. "Daddy won't mind. He doesn't mind a bunch of stuff."

Carol laughed to herself.

"I can see that he doesn't," Carol said. "He's very easy going. But—I still think that's something that he and I have to talk about. For right now, though, I'm not going anywhere."

Carol walked over to the table and pulled out a chair. She sat down and Sophia joined her, sliding her own chair close to Carol before she wiggled into it. Carol reached out a hand and touched Sophia's leg. Sophia put her own small hand on top of Carol's.

"Does that still hurt?" Sophia asked, bringing her finger up to her face to mark the spot on her own face that matched the place where the worst of Ed's lingering injuries was still healing on Carol's face.

"No," Carol said. "It's almost healed up now. And once they take the stitches out? You probably won't notice it at all."

"Your husband hurt you?" Sophia asked. "Right?"

Carol nodded her head.

"That's why he's not going to be my husband anymore," Carol said. "Your Aunt Andrea is helping me get a divorce. It just means—he won't be my husband anymore. He'll just be someone that I used to be married to."

Sophia nodded her head.

"Uncle Merle is Aunt Andrea's husband," Sophia said. "Did you know that?"

Carol laughed to herself. She nodded her head.

"I caught on to it," Carol said.

"We don't hit in our family," Sophia said. "And we don't hurt each other. Sometimes—well, they do. Aunt Andrea and Uncle Merle. I mean they wrestle a lot. And Andrea will do this a lot and...she kinda scrubs her hand like this on Uncle Merle's head and he'll...he likes to grab her underwear and pull it up out of her pants so that she yells at him." Sophia smiled to herself, clearly amused by drawing to mind the antics of her aunt and uncle. "And sometimes Daddy likes to walk up behind her and he'll—he'll rub his hand on her neck like this but then he pulls her hair back there so she just kind of leans back until he lets go. But Daddy says it's not real because nobody's getting hurt. They're just playing around. It's like when Uncle Merle picks me up and pretends I'm a potato sack and he forgets that he's carrying me around like this."

Carol laughed to herself. Sophia's "acting out" of everything wasn't exactly perfect, but Carol could follow along well enough with the idea of it all.

"There's nothing wrong with playing around," Carol assured Sophia. "If everyone's having a good time together, and nobody's getting hurt? It's fun to play with people you love."

"Even when you're grown up," Sophia said.

Carol wasn't certain if the statement was meant to be a question or just a statement, so she nodded in agreement at any rate.

"Even when you're grown up," Carol said. "Maybe—especially when you're grown up. You don't play as much when you're grown up, so the playing is even more important because it's so special."

"Daddy likes to play," Sophia said. "Especially in the summer. We used to spend the weekends at Uncle Merle's house and play with water guns. But now we can do that whenever we want because they live just a little ways away from here now. You can play with us with the water guns this time. You were shooting pretty good today. You'll get all of us when it's water and it's safe to shoot it at each other."

Carol laughed to herself and nodded along with Sophia's thoughts about the water gun war that apparently would take place in someone's backyard—maybe even in the backyard of the little house that they were all currently living in.

It was hard to imagine such a thing, but Carol wanted to imagine it—just for a little while at least.

"I'd like that," Carol said. "And maybe we can even come up with some other things to play together before it's summer."

"Your husband won't come back, will he?" Sophia asked. "I heard Uncle Merle talking about it. He won't come back anymore?"

"I hope he never comes back," Carol said. "And that's why we're doing everything we can to make sure that he doesn't. But if he does? We'll just call the police and they'll make him leave, OK?"

Sophia nodded her head.

"You're lucky, you know that?" Sophia asked.

Carol bit her lip at the sincerity in her daughter's voice and the expression on her face. She couldn't keep up with the million miles a minute that the little girl's mind was covering, but she could try.

"Why am I lucky?" Carol asked.

"Because you know Daddy now," Sophia said.

Carol didn't point out to her daughter that she'd known Daryl before—it wasn't necessary. She simply agreed with her.

"You're right," Carol said. "I am lucky. I know Daryl now and...I get the chance to really know _you_ again. I'm feeling very, very lucky right now."

"But your husband hit you," Sophia said, raising her eyebrows at Carol like she was a little surprised that Carol wasn't quick enough to follow along with her train of thought. "And you deserve better than that. You know that, don't you? That you deserve better than that. We don't hit each other, and if we do? We have to tell what's going on so that we can make sure that it stops. Daddy doesn't like that kind of thing and you're lucky because—he knows how to make it stop. He'll know how to make sure that your husband doesn't come back. He doesn't do it anymore. Daddy knows how to fix that. He'll make sure it doesn't happen anymore now that he knows about it."

Carol swallowed at the sincerity in Sophia's voice. She had the upmost confidence in her father's abilities to do anything, that much was clear, but she certainly believed that he could protect Carol from Ed. He could, clearly, protect anyone from anything as long as he knew that's what he was supposed to do.

It was the kind of confidence that Carol wanted her daughter to have in her father, even if it wasn't always true, and she was glad that Sophia had that relationship with Daryl. She decided, too, that it was important enough that she wouldn't do anything to put it into question. Not then and, hopefully, not ever.

"I'm sure he'll do his best," Carol said. "I know he will. And you're right. I'm very lucky to be here. To have—found you and your Daddy when I did. But—there's nothing for you to worry about Sophia, OK? I'm OK. I'm going to be OK. And you're going to be OK too. I promise you that. OK? I promise you that your Daddy won't ever let anything happen to you. And, I promise you that—that I won't _ever_ let anything happen to you."

Sophia nodded her head. She did look a little concerned, but Carol assumed that it was only natural. It was a lot for a child her age to take in. These past few days had brought a lot into Sophia's life. Carol had never meant to bring all of it to her daughter. But Sophia, she was confident, could work through it as long as they were all there to help her when her concerns arose.

"Because you're my Mama?" Sophia asked.

Carol swallowed, her chest tightening, and nodded her head.

"Yeah," she said. "Yes, sweetheart. Because...I'm your Mama."

Carol stood up quickly because she didn't want Sophia to see how much the simple statement affected her. She didn't feel like it was something that she could easily explain to the girl. She wasn't sure that Sophia could understand that something that meant so much to her could also be so _painful_ in the best way possible. Carol walked quickly over to the stove and stirred some of the pots that were simmering on the eyes to give herself a purpose for having abruptly left the table—and for keeping her back to Sophia. She focused her attention on inhaling and exhaling air and calming her nerves so that, when she spoke, her voice wouldn't come out with the quiver that she was almost certain would be there.

"I think we've got all the ingredients for cookies, Sophia," Carol said, still keeping her back to her daughter for a moment. "Do you think we should make some cookies? For dessert?"

She heard the sound of Sophia's chair slide on the floor as the girl quickly got out of it.

"Yes!" Sophia said with more enthusiasm than she'd used for most things that day. "Yes! Can we make some cookies?"

Carol laughed to herself at how excited a child could be over something so simple. She smiled at the thought of how a child could be so complex—so worried about things she shouldn't even have to know about and, yet, still so excited by something as simple as cookies.

Carol quickly dabbed at her eyes with her fingertips, collecting what had pooled there, and then she wiped her nose with the back of her hand.

"What kind should we make?" Carol asked. "What's your favorite kind of cookie?"

Sophia twisted her mouth up as she considered the difficult question.

"What's _your_ favorite kind of cookie?" Sophia asked finally.

"Chocolate chip," Carol said.

Sophia smiled.

"That's my favorite too," she said.

And whether or not it was really true, Carol accepted the answer as truth. Maybe Sophia's favorite, ten minutes before had been peanut butter or oatmeal raisin. It didn't matter, though, in the moment. What mattered at that moment, and it was clear on Sophia's face, was that she and Carol had the same favorite cookie.

Carol raised her eyebrows and feigned a little more excitement than she felt over cookies for Sophia's benefit.

"How about that?! We have the same favorite cookie!" Carol exclaimed. Sophia grinned. "Come on—let's wash our hands again and then? I'll teach you how to make chocolate chip cookies."

"You know what?" Sophia asked, heading straight for the stool that helped her be able to see more clearly over the tops of the counters and reach the things that Carol gave her to do to help with the food.

"What?" Carol asked.

"I bet chocolate chip is Daddy's favorite cookie too," Sophia said.

"You might just be right," Carol agreed. "I guess we'll just have to find out when he gets home."


	22. Chapter 22

**AN: Here we are, another chapter here.**

 **I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

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Even after Sophia fell asleep, Carol lingered a little longer than necessary in the girl's room. She allowed herself the luxury of rubbing her fingertips lightly over the girl's arm—lightly enough not to wake her. She moved her hair back away from her face and she examined Sophia's features while she slept with her mouth partially open. There was a lot of herself there. Carol had abandoned all the mementos of her young life—photo albums with the few remaining pictures of her parents and herself as she'd grown up—to get away from Ed. She could almost see her own face, though, looking back at her from her daughter's features.

 _Her daughter_.

The night before Carol had left Sophia on the threshold just outside of Daryl's door, she'd stayed awake to watch her sleep—an infant who still hadn't begun to really look like anyone. She'd had Carol's nose even then, though. Carol had recognized that in her when she'd been committing every single detail of her baby to memory.

There was a lot of Daryl, too, in Sophia's features. He was there more when the girl was awake. The way she smiled—how the one side of her lip seemed to just naturally curl up higher than the other. The way she stared with such an intense look that it almost made Carol want to look away. Maybe she took a little more of the details from Carol than she did from Daryl, but he was there.

In so many ways, he was there.

Carol had shaped who Sophia was physically—as surely as she'd grown her in her womb for nine months—but Daryl had shaped who Sophia was in every other way.

And she was just as beautiful inside as she was out. She was pure and sweet and wise beyond her years. She was shockingly smart for her age, but innocent enough that it was clear that life—even if it could have—hadn't darkened her outlook enough to make her bitter or angry.

Sophia was her father's child.

When Carol finally left Sophia, tucking her in one last time for the night and checking the nightlight that she could clearly see burning, she stepped quietly into the main part of the house and found Daryl sitting on the couch watching the television that he often forgot to turn on after he switched it off during dinner to keep Sophia from being distracted from her food by the flashing entertainment that the box offered.

Carol smiled to herself.

"Good show?" She asked.

Daryl looked at her, a little surprise registering on his features. She'd pulled him out of a daydream. He smiled at her, the corner of his mouth turning gently upwards.

"Yeah," he said with a quiet laugh. "Yeah—best there is, really. She asleep?"

"I only had to read Amelia Bedelia twice," Carol said. She crossed the living room floor and took her seat on the couch next to Daryl, angling her body toward him to let him know that she expected, now, to fill their evening as they had been—talking to one another in the otherwise silent house. "I talked to Sophia today, a little bit, about Ed."

"Yeah?" Daryl asked. "What'd ya tell her?"

Carol shrugged her shoulders and shook her head.

"Not a lot, really," Carol said. "She was just—asking questions."

Daryl laughed to himself.

"She'll do that," Daryl said. "And she ain't got no shame. No sense of what ain't her business. Reckon that's my fault. Merle and Andrea's too, maybe. We ain't never considered nothin' off limits. You wanna know about it? Ask. It's led to some awkward ass tap-dancing around things before."

Carol smiled to herself.

"I think it's good," Carol said. "I think—maybe if we'd all talked about things a little more openly? There wouldn't be so much shit in the world."

"You got a lotta damn confidence in the fine art of conversation," Daryl said.

"No," Carol disagreed. "In truth, maybe. Transparency. Real conversation, but not just conversation for chit-chat's sake."

"That what you had with Sophia?" Daryl asked. "A real conversation?"

"Something like that," Carol said. "She wanted to know about Ed. She wanted to know if—he was coming back. I told her that...I'd never let anything happen to her. I told her that you'd never let anything happen to her if he _did_ come back."

"Then you told her the truth," Daryl said. "On both counts."

Carol swallowed and nodded her head. Daryl was relaxed. He was simply sitting on the couch, relaxed, enjoying his evening. He hadn't even had a beer tonight. The air around him felt _relaxed_. It was such a different feeling from the life that Carol had known. It was so different from the way evenings used to feel to her. She used to have to worry about whether or not Ed had a bad day. She had to worry whether or not _someone else_ pissed him off for him to bring it home with him. She had to worry about if everything was perfect and the house was clean enough to prove that she deserved to exist—she did enough to merit her stay-at-home status when he wouldn't allow her anything different.

But it was so different with Daryl.

"She—told me that I deserved better," Carol said. She laughed to herself. "All these years...Ed's been telling me I deserved everything I got. More, even. And my eight year old daughter, who probably has every reason in the world to think that I'm—that I'm less than wonderful—tells me that I deserve better than Ed."

"She's right," Daryl said. "Hell—don't nobody deserve that. But—especially not you."

Carol shook her head.

"You don't know me," Carol said.

"I reckon I know you enough," Daryl said.

"You don't know how horrible I can be," Carol said. "You don't know what a bad housekeeper I can be. How often I just—screw things up. Look what I did to you. And I knew you—two days? And I turned your life upside down."

Daryl laughed to himself.

"Yeah," he said. "What'cha done to me. Give me the person I care most about in this whole damn world. Give me a real reason to get outta the bed in the morning and drag my sorry ass to work. Give me a reason to look forward to the days I got outta work besides just figurin' out the limits of my liver. And since you been here? I never lived in a place so clean nor eat food so good—and I'm includin' my sister-in-law's house and food in that."

"She works too," Carol said.

"Didn't say she didn't," Daryl said. "Didn't say there's nothin' wrong with their house. Weren't nothin' wrong with mine, neither. Just sayin' that'cha keep a clean house like I ain't never seen before. Not that I was expectin' it. Wouldn't matter if you lived like a slob, though. You still wouldn't deserve the shit he done to you."

"She said I was lucky I found you," Carol said. "That you would—fix it. Make sure it doesn't happen anymore. She was right about being lucky to find you."

Daryl shook his head at her. His expression changed. It almost looked pained.

"I told her if she was ever in a situation like that—I'd help her. Get her out. Make sure it didn't happen no more," Daryl said. "It's easy to say. But I don't know that I really know what I'm doing. We're just—hopin' for the best and knowin' we'll deal with whatever happens."

"I didn't come here expecting you to be my white knight," Carol said. "I'm not expecting you to take care of me. Or to stop Ed. I'm not expecting you to clean up the mess I made with my life. Maybe you can help but, ultimately it's my mess to deal with."

Daryl stared at her—that piercing stare. Then he redirected his eyes to the couch cushions they were sitting on.

"Don't mean I ain't gonna do it," Daryl said. "Or at least try."

"You don't have to," Carol said. "I'm not asking that of you."

"I want to," Daryl said. He sighed. "My old man? Probably the one thing that directs every damn thing I do with Sophia is repeating some kinda damn mantra over and over in my head. What the hell would I have wanted my old man to do? If I was her—what would I want? The second part of the mantra is—hell, I don't know, think about what the hell he _woulda_ done and do whatever seems the farthest away from that I can get. He was an asshole of the worst kind. Worst part about it is—I loved him any damn way. Still hurt my feelings when he died. Merle's too, though he don't talk about that shit."

Carol swallowed down the lump in the back of her throat.

"That's where the scars come from," Carol said. Daryl nodded his head, just barely, but he didn't verbally respond and he didn't look at her for a moment. "All of them," Carol added. Daryl glanced at her then, but quickly dropped his eyes away. Carol laughed ironically to herself. "Sophia is really worried about my face. She keeps—checking, I guess. To see if it hurts. I keep telling her it doesn't."

"But it does," Daryl said. "I know it does. Ain't even healed yet. You lucky he didn't fracture nothing."

Carol shook her head at him when he finally felt able to look at her again.

"My face doesn't hurt any worse than it has before," Carol said. "And—I think you know...it's not the marks they leave on the outside that really—that really hurt. They're not the ones that keep me awake at night."

"I wish to hell you'da told me back then what was going on," Daryl said. "You said your husband was an asshole and you left him—but you shoulda told me more."

"It wasn't your cross to bear then," Carol said. "And it isn't now."

"Maybe I coulda helped," Daryl said. He shook his head. "Hell—I don't know if I coulda. Don't even know if I'm going to be able to help now. Mostly it's just—seein' how much the law can do. How stupid Ed might be."

"Never underestimate the stupidity of Ed Peletier," Carol said with a laugh. Daryl gave her something of a warning look. It was a clear indication that he didn't think it was funny—not when he perceived it to be a threat to her. It made her stomach catch in an odd sort of way. "I might as well laugh at it," Carol offered. "Until we know something, we don't know anything. I can—feel terrified or I can laugh at it. I think I'd rather try to laugh."

"He ain't gettin' back here," Daryl said.

"He might," Carol said. "And that's not being pessimistic. It's just—being _realistic_."

"He ain't gettin' you back if you don't go back to him," Daryl said.

"I won't go back," Carol said. "That one's a lot surer than whether or not he'll find me here."

"I wish there was more I could do," Daryl said. "I feel like—there ain't nothin' really I can do."

"You've done more than you can imagine," Carol said. Daryl made a noise at her and shook his head gently in rejection of what she'd said. "You _have_ ," Carol asserted. "Since I got here? Everyone—but especially you? You've helped me more than you can even imagine. For the first time in years—someone has _cared_. You've been kind to me. You've helped me. You've helped me reconnect with Sophia. You've given me a place to _rest_. Something I needed more than I knew. But more than all of that? You've just— _cared_. Knowing that someone is there for me? That someone _cares_? That helps me in ways that—ways I can't even explain because I'm not sure I understand them myself."

Daryl stared at her again. Once again he was looking at her like he was trying to look into her. He was looking at her like he could read her mind or, at the very least, like he could see it working inside her skull. He tipped his head to the side and used his thumbnail to scratch at the skin just below his lower lip where the hair growing there must have itched. He kept scratching it even after he would have soothed any regular itch.

Finally, he stopped the nervous scratching and dropped his hand back to his lap.

"I do care," Daryl said. "I did from the moment I—moment I met you. From that first night we went back to that little motel. Cared all them years that you was just gone. Didn't know where you were or—what you were doing, but I cared. Still do. Maybe—once you start caring, it just don't change."

Carol leaned toward him, closing some of the distance that separated them. She reached her hand up and brushed the hair away from his forehead. She smiled to herself over the thought that—if she had any such pull in his world—she might suggest that he cut his hair so that it was easier to see his eyes. He had nice eyes—when she could see them clearly.

He reached his hand up and caught hers. His hand swallowed up hers as he wrapped her hand in his hand squeezed it gently, working his fingers a little nervously against her skin.

He leaned toward her and she felt her heart pick up an extra beat. She felt her chest grab at the change of her heart rate. He was searching her face for something—some proof that she wanted him to do what he was thinking about doing. She smiled at him and, not knowing what else to do, she nodded her head gently before he closed the final piece of distance between them and brought his lips to hers.

Daryl barely brushed her lips with his own to begin with, so Carol leaned into him to deepen the kiss. When he responded with a hunger that she wasn't expecting, her whole body urged her into matching his eagerness.

The kiss—or, rather, _another_ kiss—had been a long time coming. There had been nine years of waiting for it. Nine years of not even realizing that she'd _been_ waiting for it. But it was worth the wait.

To Carol, the kiss alone felt like coming home again. And her heart and body both told her that she was happy to be home.


	23. Chapter 23

**AN: Here we are, another chapter here.**

 **I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

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There were very few times in Daryl's life when he felt like he lost control. He had spent his life hearing people talk about the sensation of losing control, but it was something he typically had a difficult time understanding. The people who spoke about their loss of control usually used it to justify bad decisions. They lost control and _hurt_ someone. They lost control and caused _harm_. Loss of control was usually tied to some kind of destruction and Daryl usually regarded it as nothing more than someone justifying their bad behavior and trying to put themselves outside of the driver's seat.

But Daryl felt a certain loss of control when Carol moved into him and kissed him back with a wave of emotion that hit him and threatened to take him under.

For a brief moment, her mouth against his as she seemed determined to swallow him whole, Daryl felt _wanted_ more than he'd ever felt it in his life. The feeling was even stronger than it had been the first night they'd been together—another night of losing control, in a manner of speaking—and it was overwhelming. He wanted her, but she wanted him just as badly.

Daryl took the hunger in Carol's kisses as permission to let his hands explore her body again. It felt like they already knew the way. They knew the lay of the land. In a second, he was transported back to where they'd been nine years ago. Under his palms he could feel the physical manifestation of a woman that he'd fantasized about when he was alone. On his skin, he could feel the very real touch of the woman as she explored his body—her hands creeping under his shirt to search him out.

By the time that Daryl pulled back, finding the control that he'd lost for a moment, Carol's lips were red and he tasted the faint metallic taste that came from the blood that he'd drawn by cracking open a spot on her lip that never got the chance to heal properly before she accidentally split it open again. Daryl was sorry for splitting it once more, but Carol didn't seem to even realize the injury that had been done.

She held him against her, having found her way under him on the couch, and stared at him. Their clothes had gotten shifted around in the fumbling. Her shirt was half off. His was twisted to a point that it slightly choked him at the collar. He was uncomfortably hard and the rise and fall of her chest as she breathed through her own emotions was only making it worse.

"We can't do this," Daryl said, almost hating the sound of his own voice as he heard it escaping his mouth.

Carol furrowed her brows at him.

"What do you mean?" She asked.

Daryl pulled free of her, his body protesting every inch of movement, to sit on the couch. He ran his hand through his hair.

"Shit—we can't do this," he repeated.

Carol sat up and dabbed at her lip with her fingertips. She'd just become aware of the blood that Daryl was already aware of. The taste of it was still on his tongue.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I did that."

Carol looked at the blood on her fingertips and rubbed her fingers together to rub it into her skin. She looked entirely unbothered by it.

"I think that's a case of the chicken and the egg," Carol said. "It doesn't matter. What's wrong? Did I do something?"

Daryl shook his head. He laughed to himself. It was ridiculous to think that she might have done something. Especially something wrong. How could she do anything wrong in this situation?

"You're married," Daryl said. "Getting divorced but you're married. All the shit that—everything he's done? I'm an asshole of the first degree if I take advantage of that shit. You ain't thinkin' clear."

Now it was Carol's turn to laugh.

"I don't think you were alone," Carol said. "And—you're not taking advantage. I'm thinking more clearly right now than I've thought in years."

"Sophia's in the other damn room," Daryl said.

"You have a nice bedroom," Carol said, smirking at him. "It has a door. And the bed is very comfortable."

"You want to do this?" Daryl asked. "Like—you really wanna do it? You ain't gonna wake up in the morning and think—what the hell was I thinking? What the hell was _he_ thinking?"

Carol licked her lip, letting her tongue dwell for a moment over the open crack. She shook her head.

"I won't," she said. "Will you?"

Daryl almost felt like he wanted to cry because there were too many things going on inside his head that he couldn't seem to gather together and sort into their proper places. His body was relaxing a little, accepting its fate that this wasn't going to happen, but it still urged him to change his mind. It urged him to lose the control that he usually fought so hard to keep.

"I won't regret it," he said. "Hell—I'd be lyin' if I said I ain't thought of it a thousand times since...since then."

Carol nodded her head at him.

"I never regretted it then, either," Carol said. "I've regretted a lot of things, but that was never one of them. Do you need my _permission_ , Daryl? Is that what you need? You need me to tell you that—we _can_ do this? You need me to tell you that—I _want_ us to do this? It's what I want? Because if you need my permission? You've got it."

Daryl's chest ached oddly at the comment and the sincerity behind it. Maybe that _was_ what he needed. Maybe he needed permission. Maybe he just needed to know that this—whatever it was and whatever it might become—wasn't a _loss of control_. They were both backing away from it, thinking about it, and deciding that it was something they wanted to move forward with.

It wasn't loss of control. It was a decision.

"Birth control?" Daryl asked.

"Ed never wanted me to take it," Carol said. "It makes you gain weight and—he always thought we'd have a family. But I don't think there's anything to worry about. There's only ever been Sophia. I've never had another scare, even."

Daryl raised his eyebrows at her.

"Maybe that shit had more to do with Ed than it did with you," Daryl said. "'Cause Sophia _did_ happen."

Carol nodded her head.

"Condoms?" Carol asked.

Daryl laughed to himself.

"What the hell would I have 'em for?" Daryl asked. "About the only thing I'd use 'em for is making some durable ass water balloons and it wouldn't be worth explaining things to Soph."

Carol sighed and sat back against the couch. She rearranged her clothes. She looked almost to the point of tears herself. Daryl could sympathize with the expression on her face. He swallowed.

"You still wanna do this?" He asked.

Carol shrugged her shoulders and nodded her head.

"I still want to do this," Carol said. "But—I _don't_ want to get pregnant. Right now? There's too much going on to add something else in the mix."

Daryl's stomach twisted a little at Carol's choice of words. _Right now_. She didn't want to do that _right now_. Like there was no doubt that there would be a later. That things might be very different some other time. There was something else that existed that wasn't _right now_.

Until that moment, it had almost been impossible to believe that there was anything more than the moment itself. Letting himself daydream about something else was just that, a daydream. But it was clearly something that he wasn't alone in daydreaming about—at least a little. For Carol there was clearly _right now_ and something that contrasted with that.

Daryl stood up.

"If you really want this? If you're sure you ain't changed your mind? I can fix this," Daryl said. Carol gave him a look. "There's a store five minutes from here. Open until two in the morning. You stay here with Soph. Think about it. If you ain't changed your mind when I get back..."

Carol laughed to herself.

"I'm not going to change my mind," Carol said. "But I also don't want to send you down to the store this late."

"Haven't even had a beer," Daryl said, laughing to himself. "And I've made some runs to the store for worse things at worse hours. You think about it. I'll be back in ten or fifteen minutes."

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Fifteen minutes might have been time to change the world, but it was no time to Carol. She wasted the first five of them checking on Sophia and trying to get control of her nerves.

What if she didn't live up to Daryl's expectations? What if he expected her to look like she looked nine years ago? What if he remembered things as being better than they were?

She hadn't shaved her legs since she'd gotten there. She hadn't followed any kind of beauty routine. Ed liked her hairless—completely hairless. She was anything but that at this point. What if Daryl was turned off by that? Maybe she could have remedied that—jumped in the shower and taken care of it while he was gone—but she wasted too many of those fifteen minutes to allow for that and her nerves suddenly had her too fluttery to imagine trying to hold a razor.

By the time that Daryl got back, coming in with a small plastic bag in his hand, Carol hadn't used any of her fifteen minutes to do anything constructive and he looked at her with some surprise.

"You OK?" He asked. She nodded. Her face must have given her nerves away. "You changed your mind?"

He looked, perhaps, a little disappointed, but he didn't look angry. Carol was struck by that fact alone. Daryl had told her that he was letting her make a decision—and he'd meant it. If she told him, right then and there, after he'd made a special trip to the store, that she had changed her mind, he would be disappointed, but he wouldn't be _angry_. He would be disappointed that she'd changed her mind—because he wanted this every bit as much as she did—but he wouldn't be angry.

Carol sucked in a breath, the realization flooding over her worries and soothing them almost instantly. She smiled at him as sincerely as she could and shook her head.

"No," she said. "I don't think—I'm ever going to change my mind."

Daryl's cheeks flooded with pink and he smiled at her. He raised the bag up like she might not have seen it.

"I—got it," Daryl said.

Carol smiled and raised her eyebrows at him.

"It looks like you bought the smallest box they had," Carol said.

"Ten," Daryl said. He laughed to himself. "More'n I think I've needed in my life. You might be overestimating me."

Carol nodded her head.

"We'll work on it," she teased. She stood up from her spot on the couch, surprised to find that her knees still felt a bit shaky but were strong enough to support her. She reached a hand in Daryl's direction and he took her hand. She tugged him toward his own bedroom—the bedroom that she'd taken over since her arrival there.

As soon as they were in the room with the door closed, any worries that Carol might have had still lingering evaporated entirely. Daryl kissed her first, pushing her toward the bed, and she went pulling him along with her. He seemed to fumble a little, alcohol not helping them quite the way it had the first time they'd done this, and Carol helped him out of his shirt. He returned the favor before he shucked off his pants and she followed suit.

If Daryl noticed that her body had changed, he didn't say anything. If he was disgusted by the fact that she'd taken a vacation from her use of razors, he didn't say anything.

In fact, he hardly said anything at all.

The words that he did breathe out, though, spurred Carol on, even if he simply fell into repeating the word "beautiful" and broke the monotonous sounds of his hummed pleasure with a few well-place expletives.

He took his time. And Carol took hers. She gave him the same courtesy that he gave her. She let her hands and her mouth explore his body with slow and careful consideration. And when she saw that he was suffering to try to wait any longer for something they both wanted, she invited him to come to her and she helped him slide inside her, closing her eyes to him for a moment at the welcomed sensation of their coming together.

Carol always considered herself somewhat _broken_ when it came to sex. She didn't experience sex the way that she'd come to believe that it should be experienced. It wasn't Earth shattering. It didn't leave her legs shaking and her body weak. It didn't render her unable to think.

And maybe it didn't with Daryl either—not entirely—but it came close enough.

When Carol came, it surprised her as much as anything could. She held onto Daryl, giving herself over to the sensation, and he spat more of the soft curses at her, his own orgasm followed closely behind like she'd driven him over the edge that he hadn't quite been able to reach before.

Panting, he rolled beside her and scrubbed his hand across his face before he ran his fingers through his hair. Carol rolled over, her nerves still feeling a little on edge and responding to her every movement, and kissed the side of his face. He brought his hand over and affectionately patted her face before he rolled his body enough to halfway return the kiss.

Carol smiled at him and he caught the smile, though his choice to breathe through his mouth, in an effort to regulate his breathing more quickly, made the smile less than it could be. The smile grew more sincere as his breathing slowly evened out a little, but he kept his eyes locked on Carol like she was the most amazing thing that he'd ever seen. He looked at her like he expected her to disappear. She didn't look away from him, either. She didn't want to look away from him. She liked seeing him this way. She liked seeing him every way.

"You OK?" Daryl asked.

Carol nodded her head at him gently.

"I still haven't changed my mind," she offered.

Daryl laughed at her.

"Yeah," he breathed out. "Me neither."


	24. Chapter 24

**AN: Here we are, another chapter here.**

 **I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

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Waking up on Saturday morning meant waking up without the electric shriek of an alarm warning Daryl that he and Sophia were possibly going to get a late start to their day and finish the rest of the day always running one step behind. Weekends meant that Daryl could sleep in a little, especially since Sophia had gotten old enough, and independent enough, that she didn't need him for everything. She could get up in the morning, make herself some cereal for breakfast, and spend her morning watching whatever she wanted on television until Daryl was ready to rise. She knew how to get his attention if there was anything she needed.

When Daryl woke up, his body naturally rousing him from sleep, he could hear the somewhat muffled sound of the television. He could hear the faint clanking of Sophia's spoon as it hit the side of her cereal bowl. He could tell that she was moving around and content with how her morning was going.

And then, slowly, he remembered that he wasn't in bed alone.

Daryl turned his head to the side to see Carol still sleeping. Her breathing was steady and she looked peaceful.

His pulse kicked up a notch. He'd never seen her like this before. Suddenly, he was a little afraid that he'd never see her this way again. It was a fear that came without warning and without prompting. He didn't even expect it. It was simply something his mind suggested to him.

He wanted to see her like this again, even if he wasn't really considering all that might mean.

And then his mind reminded him of something else—something else entirely. Daryl pushed back the covers and carefully tried to get out of the bed without waking Carol. He eased out of the bed, careful to keep the mattress from shifting too much, and he made his way to the little half-bath that he lived out of in his bedroom. He closed the door and, safe inside, allowed himself to be a little less careful about the noise he made.

Daryl relieved himself and washed his hands before he splashed his face with water and looked at his sleepy expression in the mirror.

Carol was sleeping in his bed—like he'd imagined her doing so many times before. The evidence in the small bathroom trashcan confirmed that he hadn't dreamed anything about the night before. They'd certainly enjoyed themselves and used more of the condoms that he'd bought than he'd have imagined anyone might need in one night. His body was still buzzing from the residual excitement and exhaustion.

And in the living room, his eight year old daughter was eating her cereal and, no doubt, watching some children's program on television. By now she was probably wondering where he was. He'd been sleeping on the couch since Carol had arrived. Sophia might not even realize he was in the house. She might imagine that he'd stepped out early to do something at the shop. She might assume that she was home alone with Carol.

Daryl dried his face, enjoying the scrub of the towel against his skin, and returned the hand towel to its hook before he stepped out of the bathroom.

He hadn't meant to wake her, but clearly he hadn't been as quiet as he'd wanted to be. Carol was in bed, leaned up on her elbow, with her hair sticking out in every direction imaginable. She offered him a sleepy smile when he stopped into the threshold of the doorway.

"Didn't mean to wake you," Daryl said.

"If it's after five," Carol said, "then I slept in. My body usually wakes me then."

"It's after five," Daryl said. "Soph don't usually start movin' 'til about seven. I hear her up. So I'm guessin' it's after seven."

Carol's smile renewed itself a little. She raised her hand to rub at her eyes like she might rub away any residual sleepiness that was still hanging there. Daryl's chest caught. She had the same sleepy expression that Sophia had. He knew it well.

"How'd you sleep?" Carol asked.

"Better'n I have in years," Daryl said. "You?"

Carol laughed to herself.

"Ditto," she said.

Daryl cleared his throat and crossed the room back to the bed. He sat down on the edge of it and looked at Carol for a moment—simply enjoying the way she looked there, in his bed, like she had no desire to leave it. She had no desire to run away and disappear. She was content where she was.

"We gotta talk about something," Daryl said.

Carol hummed, though the sound came out sounding more like a groan.

"I have never liked the sound of that," Carol said. "Nothing good has ever come after those words."

Daryl laughed to himself. He raised his eyebrows at her.

"Didn't say it was bad," Daryl said. "Didn't say it was good, either. Just—we gotta talk."

Carol sighed.

"What's wrong?" She asked. "Did I—do something?"

Daryl's stomach clenched. She was quick to assume fault. Even before she knew what the discussion was about, she jumped to the conclusion that she'd somehow caused a problem. Daryl knew, very well, that the assumption of guilt was Ed talking.

He shook his head at her.

"You didn't do nothin'," Daryl said. "Nothin' wrong, at least. It's just—Sophia's up out there."

"Is there something wrong with that?" Carol asked.

Daryl shook his head again.

"I been sleepin' on the couch since you got here," Daryl said. "You been sleepin' in here, and I been sleepin' on the couch."

Carol's expression changed a little. Realization washed over her features. Her mouth changed its shape to reflect her thoughts as she realized what he was saying.

"You think she's going to ask about us sleeping together?" Carol asked.

"Don't know," Daryl said. "But she's sure gonna notice. Don't much get by Sophia. She's observant that way."

Carol nodded her head.

"She gets that from you," Carol said.

Daryl was a little struck by the comment, but he didn't respond to it. He wasn't sure how to respond to it any more than he was ever sure about how he should respond to the things that people said about him and Sophia.

"What we gonna say?" Daryl asked.

"What do you think we should say?" Carol asked.

"I don't know," Daryl said. "I don't know what she's gonna ask. Or if she's even gonna ask anything at all. But I figure—we might wanta know what we're gonna say if she does ask."

Carol nodded her head gently and seemed to be considering the whole thing. Then she looked at Daryl and furrowed her brows.

"What would you say to her?" Carol asked. "If it was—someone else?"

"Wouldn't be nobody else," Daryl said. "I ain't been with nobody since Sophia come to live with me. I didn't want her seein'—didn't want people around her that I weren't sure weren't there to stay. You know? Didn't want her gettin' attached to nobody just to up and snatch 'em outta her life. So—there just ain't been nobody but me an' Soph."

The corner of Carol's mouth turned up slightly.

"She asked me if I was going to stay," Carol said. "Not just—not just stay in her life. But if I was really going to stay. With you and with her."

Daryl swallowed. His stomach seemed to have a very vested interest in Carol's response to this question.

"What'd you tell her?" Daryl asked.

Carol shrugged her shoulders.

"I told her that was something you and I had to discuss," Carol said. "I told her that it wasn't really up to me. It was up to you, too."

Daryl's stomach wasn't the only part of his body that was interested in Carol's response. His lungs, too, seemed to find it a little harder to expand and contract while they were waiting on some sure answer. He nodded his head.

"But would you wanta stay?" He asked. "I mean—is that somethin' you would want?"

Carol raised her eyebrows at him.

"Is it something you would want?" She asked.

Daryl laughed to himself, the laughter unknotting his nerves a little from the tight bundle they were working themselves into.

"We won't never get nowhere if we keep going in circles like this," Daryl said.

Carol smiled softly at him. Maybe there was even a little mischief there. There was a little challenge. Daryl had seen that expression before—though it was usually his daughter that flashed it at him.

"We won't go in circles if you'll just answer the question," Carol said.

"Seems to me it's as much up to you as it is to me," Daryl said. "You the one just shakin' off Ed. You the one that's—steppin' out on a new life."

Carol nodded her head gently.

"But the answer to the question could mean a new life for you too," Carol said.

Daryl sighed. They weren't going to get anywhere at this speed. They could spend all morning, hiding in the bedroom, and never come to any answer that was more definitive than the one they had right now—which was really no answer at all—if nobody was willing to put a foot out there and test the ground they were both stepping onto.

"If you wanted to stay," Daryl said, "then I wouldn't mind it." He saw Carol's expression change and he checked his words. "I would like it," Daryl said. "But—it ain't something I want you to feel obligated to do. I would understand if—if you didn't want to stay. Soph would too. We'd just have to explain it to her."

Carol hesitated a moment.

"It sounds like...at least a little like...you're dismissing me and inviting me at the same time," Carol said.

Daryl shook his head.

"I just don't want you to feel obligated," Daryl said. "That's all. Want you to know that—you don't gotta do anything you don't want to do."

"But if I wanted to stay?" Carol asked.

Daryl's heart kicked in to join the strange stirrings of the rest of his body.

"Then I'd want you to stay," Daryl said. "But you don't got to decide right now."

"No," Carol said. "I don't have to decide right now. But at least it's nice to know we're on the same page. Undecided as we may be."

Daryl laughed to himself. His stomach was still in knots. It wasn't a yes. Not a hard, definitive yes. But it certainly wasn't a no, either.

"We still have to figure out what to tell Sophia," Daryl said.

"What do you think she'll ask?" Carol asked.

"Don't know," Daryl admitted. "Might not ask anything. Not right now. Not this morning. But you can bet she'll hold onto it. Whatever she's thinking, she'll hold onto it. It'll come out when we're least expecting it. Once she's thought about it a while. She'll want to know about us sleeping in here together."

"How much does she know?" Carol asked. She hesitated, her next words coming out a little stunted as she struggled to put them together in a sentence. "About people sleeping together?"

"Not a whole lot," Daryl said. "She knows married people sleep together. She knows Andrea and Merle sleep together. She knows sometimes I sleep with her and she sleeps with me. Think she's slept with Andrea and Merle a couple times at Christmas. But—she don't know nothin' much about it beyond just _sleeping_ together."

"Then that's what we tell her," Carol said. "We tell her that—we spent the night together. We had a slumber party. If she wants to know more? We tell her that the couch wasn't all that comfortable. You sleep better in here and there's—well, there's more than enough room for both of us. There's no need to tell her more than that. Not unless she asks. And if she asked—realistically what more do you think she'd want to know?"

Daryl swallowed and shook his head.

"All I can think is—do it mean anything," Daryl said. "Like do it mean we're like—Andrea and Merle. Or like—we're family now or something."

Carol sucked in a breath and held it. Daryl heard her when she released it.

"What do you want to say to her if she asks that?" Carol asked. "Or what do you want _me_ to say to her if she asks _me_ that? Like she asked about me staying?"

"I'm the only one answering questions here," Daryl said. "And they questions that involve the both of us. What if you was to tell me this one? Make it your turn? What would you want to say if she was askin' you that?"

Carol nodded her head gently. She took a long moment to think about the question. Then she smiled at him before her cheeks burned a little pink and she contemplated the bed carefully.

"I would want to tell her that—maybe we're a little like Merle and Andrea?" Carol offered. "I would want to tell her that—I would _like_ for us to be a family. And that—even if we aren't a family yet...because sometimes things like that take a little time...I'd _like_ for us to be a family someday." Carol's smile faded and she rolled her eyes up at Daryl like she was trying to read him. He wasn't even sure what his expression might say at the moment. He wasn't even entirely sure what he was feeling—other than the fact that so much of his body was responding to Carol's words that he felt almost out of control of himself. "What do you think about that?" Carol asked. "Just—I know she might not ask but—if she asks?"

Daryl swallowed and nodded his head.

"If she asks," he said, "I'd say—I like the sound of that."


	25. Chapter 25

**AN: Here we are, another chapter here.**

 **I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

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Daryl wasn't really bothered by drunks. In truth, he'd probably spent more of his life in the presence of drunks—even if they were sober and simply waiting for their next their drink—than he'd spent with truly _sober_ people. Drunks themselves, just by being drunks, didn't bother Daryl at all.

What bothered him were the drunks who didn't know how to handle the drink that they consumed.

Drunk at home or in a bar was one thing. Drunk and showing your ass in aisle four of the A and P was another thing entirely.

Daryl was trying to ignore the disturbance that was slowly but surely drawing a crowd. He was only there to pick up a few items. His list, in fact, was so short that he hadn't even bothered to write it down. He could remember the whole thing by heart. They only needed the basics for a small "cookout" that would take place at his house that evening. It was something that Sophia would enjoy and it was a nice way to get Merle and Andrea around Carol in a relaxed situation. If they were talking about being a family, then Carol might as well get to know—really get to know—the rest of the people that Daryl called family.

Daryl only needed a few things and, with any luck at all, he could avoid the drunk entirely.

He might have, too, if he hadn't heard a little of the ruckus floating around in the air and realized that the drunk wasn't just yelling to himself or knocking down things for the poor grocery employees to clean up—he was actually harassing shoppers. And one of the shoppers that he was harassing was clearly a woman.

Daryl took his basket and crept to the end of the aisle where the noise originated. There was a small crowd gathering there and Daryl waded into the people. They were standing back—people gathered at either end of the aisle—almost watching the scene like it was a boxing match or a sporting event. In the middle of the aisle, the drunk had cornered a woman who, more than likely, had only wanted a jar of peanut butter. She was certainly not there for the verbal lashing that she was receiving, and the more that he yelled, the more it worried Daryl that the man would _physically_ lash out at the woman.

Especially once he recognized the man.

Daryl put his basket down on the floor and broke through the crowd of people. The only one who cared enough—or the only one with enough balls to do anything—he approached the woman from behind. She yelped when his hand touched her shoulder, but she quickly accepted his promise that he wasn't going to hurt her. He wasn't there for that. He pushed her behind him, making himself a physical wall between her and Ed Peletier so that she could escape the trap she'd somehow stumbled into.

As far as Daryl knew, Ed Peletier didn't know what Daryl looked like. They'd spoken on the phone, but Daryl had the common voice of any other shit-for-brains redneck in the state of Georgia. There was nothing about him that made him special or even noteworthy. To Ed Peletier, he was just another meddling asshole that was stopping his drunken harassment at the A and P—something he was probably sure the first amendment allowed him as a right.

But Daryl knew Ed Peletier.

"Hey man," Daryl offered, "take it easy." He held his hands up in mock surrender in Ed's direction to let the man know that he wasn't there to create trouble. He didn't want trouble. He only hoped that one of the assholes that was gawking at the scene had the sense to call security or, since they didn't seem to be doing anything particularly useful, to call the cops. "Why don't'cha just—get what you come here for and head on home? Ain't nobody here gonna slow you down. Just—get what'cha come here for and get outta here. This is a grocery store. Ain't the kinda place no damn body wants to just hang around. And—chances are they done called the cops. Get on outta here 'fore they come askin' questions and throwin' around shit like drunk and disorderly."

Ed Peletier was about as wasted as a body could get and remain upright. The good news, from where Daryl was standing, was that the man was clearly seeing double and couldn't throw a straight punch if he wanted to—which he might want to do before the cops got there, now that Daryl had sent out the hint to everyone around him to make the call. The bad news was that he was at the point of drunkenness where it would be impossible for Daryl to _hurt_ him, and consequently stop him, if it were to come to blows.

Daryl would rather get out of the A and P with just his hot dogs and buns. He'd be more than happy to forego leaving with a black eye or busted knuckles.

Daryl _could_ fight—it was something he'd been doing since he could stay on his own two feet—but he _preferred_ not to.

"She's a fuckin' bitch!" Ed spat. "Fuckin' cunt!"

Daryl glanced over his shoulder in the direction that he'd sent the woman that Ed had cornered between the peanut butter and the pancake syrup. Wherever she'd gone, she'd melted into the crowd. The woman that Ed was gesturing toward, as he pointed somewhere over Daryl's shoulder, was only visible to Ed.

"Ain't nobody back there, man," Daryl offered, looking back at Ed and biting the inside of his cheek to hold back the smile that Ed might not appreciate in his current state. "You don't even know her. She was just here buyin' some food. Same as everybody else. She weren't fuckin' with you. Ain't nobody here fuckin' with you. Just—what'cha here to get? Let's just get'cha what the hell you're here for an' you can get on outta here. No harm, no foul."

Ed's chest rose and fell rapidly as he processed his anger. Then, slowly, his shoulders slumped a little. His breathing calmed. Some wave of calm washed over him.

Daryl had seen it a thousand times before. This wasn't his first time talking a drunk down off a ledge. It was the moment when your tone of voice, even more than the words you were saying, was starting to win them over. You were starting to touch whatever little bit of reason they still had left. They liked the sound of something you were saying.

From here, it could go two ways. Either Daryl could get Ed to go along with what he was saying—take his things and get the hell out of the A and P and hopefully into the back of a police car—without causing any trouble, or Ed could get a second wind and suddenly become a whole lot more than any of them were prepared to deal with.

Either way, there wasn't any going back.

Daryl licked his lips.

"What'cha come here for? What was you tryin' to get?" Daryl asked. Ed's hands were empty. He'd come there for something, though. Every drunk that had ever taken themselves down to the A and P had come for something—more beer, pack of smokes, box of macaroni and cheese, _something_.

"Don't matter who she is," Ed said. "Still a fuckin' bitch. Fuckin' cunt. Every damn cunt's a fuckin' cunt."

Daryl bit the inside of his cheek again. Few drunks were poets, but Ed Peletier was even less so. Still, with nobody rushing to his side to help him, Daryl didn't want to start anything. There were far too many witnesses and he had far too much to lose at this point.

"You're a fuckin' cunt!" Ed yelled suddenly, turning around to find a random woman among those watching the whole scene. She looked like she might say something and Daryl held his hand up to signal to her that it was probably best to swallow this harmless insult. After all, Daryl knew—even if this woman didn't—that Ed Peletier had no scruples when it came to hitting women. He'd punch her just as soon as he'd punch Daryl. Truth be told, he might punch her first. He could very well be too chicken shit to punch Daryl. "You're a fuckin' cunt," Ed said again, anger soaking his words, as he pointed to another woman in the crowd.

"You prob'ly right man," Daryl said. "Prob'ly right. They prob'ly all fuckin' cunts. Bitches. Who the hell knows? I don't know none of them. You don't neither."

Ed seemed to be hit by another quick wave of calm.

"You don't know shit," Ed said, turning his attention back to Daryl like they'd suddenly become old friends. "Had me a wife. Fuckin' cunt weren't good for nothin'."

Daryl swallowed against the feeling that woke up inside of him suddenly. He choked it down because there wasn't room for it in the aisle. He choked it down because there were too many witnesses. He had a lot to lose.

"Got a damn restrainin' order against me," Ed said. "Against me! Bitch wouldn'ta lived it weren't for me! Wouldn'ta never had shit! I give her all she ever fuckin' had an' the lazy ass bitch just wanted more! Paid me back for what the hell I done by takin' a restrainin' order out against me! Fuckin' cunt!"

Daryl considered his words carefully. In the time he was considering them, he heard the howl of a siren outside. Someone, finally, had called the cops. All he had to do was keep Ed Peletier there—in the aisle—for as long as it took for Georgia's Finest to get in there. All he had to do was keep the man talking to him and not throwing any punches at anyone until they got there. Then he'd be their problem. Daryl could take his food and go home. Carol was baking a cake. A yellow one with chocolate icing because Daryl had told her it was his favorite. They'd grill out. He'd have a couple of beers with his family and Ed Peletier would sober up in jail, alone, overnight.

He wasn't going to let Ed Peletier be a problem for him when he didn't have to be. Daryl believed in karma. One way or another, the man would get what was coming to him. But it wasn't going to be Daryl who doled it out to him in aisle four of the A and P just in time to earn himself a trip to jail as well.

"Mighta been, man," Daryl offered. "She mighta been all that. Sometimes women are bitches. But sometimes—men are fuckin' assholes too. I'm an asshole. Know you been at times too. But that shit? It don't matter no more, right? Move on. It don't matter right now. Right here. All that matters right now? Is soberin' up some. Movin' on. Stayin' the hell away from women 'cause—well, it's like you said. They all cunts, right? All bitches. Stay the hell away from all of 'em."

Daryl's talking did exactly what he wanted it to do. Trying to listen to him—to find out if he was really a "friend" who agreed with him—Ed had temporarily gotten hypnotized by Daryl's words. He'd gotten sucked in since concentration wasn't easy for him at the moment, to the point that he didn't notice the police officers moving in on him until they were already there.

One officer, the kind with a clear chip on his shoulder, had Ed slammed up against the shelves and handcuffed him before Ed could even realize what was happening to him and start to fight back. The other, who was clearly the one who played the role of _good cop_ in the duo, approached Daryl.

"Officer Rick Grimes," the man said. "Are you with this man?"

Daryl shook his head.

"Just trying to stop a scene 'fore it got started good," Daryl said.

Officer Rick Grimes laughed to himself.

"That's a dangerous job," Rick said. "It's best to leave these kinds of situations to the police."

"Would have," Daryl said. "But y'all took so long gettin' here he mighta killed three people while we were waiting."

Officer Rick Grimes raised his eyebrows at Daryl.

"You consider yourself some kind of plainclothes crime fighter?" Rick asked.

Daryl shook his head.

"Just a concerned citizen shopping for hotdog buns," Daryl offered, swallowing back his urge to laugh at his own smartass response.

"I'm going to need to talk to you," Rick said. "About the incident."

Daryl nodded his head.

"I know you are," Daryl said. "Just let me get my basket out the middle of the floor. I got the last of the all-beef hotdogs and I don't want nobody layin' claim to 'em."


	26. Chapter 26

**AN: Here we are, another chapter here.**

 **I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

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Carol remained somewhat removed from the others by her own choice, but her choice was driven by her anxiety. She knew it, too. And she hated it, but she didn't know how to combat her own worries.

She and Daryl were talking about "doing this," even if they weren't exactly sure that either of them could explain what "this" was. If she was going to become part of this family, though, it meant she was going to become part of the _whole_ family. From what she'd understood, even when there had been miles separating them, Daryl and his brother had always been close. Merle and Andrea were a big part of Daryl's life and they'd been a big part of Sophia's life as well. If Carol was joining the family, they were going to be a big part of _her_ life. There was simply no way around that.

She knew both of them, a little, since they were helping her with what they were all calling the "Ed situation," and she found both of them to be nice people, but there was a difference between being strangers that she asked to help her escape an abusive marriage and being people that she was asking to accept her as _someone_ in Daryl's life when they shared the history that they shared.

She didn't know how they felt about what had happened with Sophia. She didn't know if they could forgive her for what she'd done. She knew that they weren't exactly treating her with any disdain, but she also knew that people's actions didn't always coincide with their feelings or even what they said when someone wasn't present.

So Carol was mostly keeping herself busy with arranging and rearranging things in the kitchen while Daryl and Merle manned the grill with Sophia's occasional "help" and Andrea went back and forth to grab beer, plates, and utensils on command.

It was Andrea who finally seemed to notice that Carol was keeping her distance.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Andrea asked, stepping into the kitchen and stopping to lean against the counter instead of grabbing something and rushing back outside like she'd been doing.

"Talk about what?" Carol asked, not wanting to assume that she knew what Andrea was referring to.

"Do we smell?" Andrea asked. "Or—are you just not a fan of the back yard?"

"I really shouldn't be outside," Carol said.

"Wandering up and down the street, no," Andrea agreed. "But that privacy fence does a good job at what it's supposed to do. You wouldn't be visible to hardly anyone. Nobody that we wouldn't notice, at least, because they were clearly looking into Daryl's yard. On the porch, especially, you'd be fine." Carol busied her hands, in response, by rearranging the table once more. "Unless that's not the reason that you're in here..." Andrea added.

Carol realized she couldn't look at her. The woman had been so nice to her. She'd helped her, for free nonetheless, with legal counsel. She'd given her clothes. She'd helped her change her appearance—a change that helped her in more ways than one. Right now, when she looked in the mirror, Carol saw someone else. She didn't see the woman that had stayed with Ed for far too long. She didn't see the woman that Ed had abused because it had amused him. Right now, when she looked in the mirror, she saw someone new with so much potential to be someone _else_. Andrea had helped give her that.

But everyone's kindness had a limit.

"You must think I'm a horrible person," Carol said. "For abandoning my daughter the way that I did."

Andrea was quiet for a moment—a very long moment. And then, when she sucked in a breath, it was as though she was trying to take in as much oxygen as the room could possibly have to offer her. She held that breath, too, for longer than most breaths needed to be held.

"And if I told you I did?" Andrea said. "If I told you that—Merle and I had discussed it more than once? We'd asked ourselves how someone could abandon a child as perfect as Sophia? Then what would you say?"

Carol swallowed.

"I'd say you had every right in the world to think that," she said, still careful not to look at Andrea. "I'd say—you were right. I've asked myself the same thing."

"And if I told you that—I might not really understand, but I think I understand?" Andrea asked.

Carol looked at her then.

Arms crossed tight across her chest, leaning in a relaxed manner against the kitchen the counter, her brow slightly furrowed, Andrea didn't look like she was angry. She didn't look like she was disgusted. She looked like she was having a serious conversation with someone she was comfortable with—and she was waiting for a serious answer.

"I'd say that I don't know how you could—how you could forgive me for that," Carol said with a sigh. She pulled out the kitchen chair and sat at the table that she'd arranged and rearranged at least a dozen times.

"It isn't my place to forgive you," Andrea said blankly. "It's yours. Sophia knows. She knows that you left her with Daryl and now? She knows you're back. And—it doesn't seem to bother her any. She seems happy. She's fine. Daryl is happier than I've seen him in— _ever_. I've always teased that part of Daryl reminded me of Eeyore. He walks around with his own little dark raincloud over his head. Even when he hides it for Sophia's sake, it's still there. But look at him out there right now. It's not there right now. And I think I know what chased it away. So I'll be fine and Merle will be fine. My question is—will you?"

"I don't know what Daryl has told you," Carol said.

"More than he needed to tell us," Andrea said. "Because at the end of it? You and Daryl? Neither of you owe me or Merle any explanation. When I started dating Merle? All Merle said to Daryl was—this is Andrea. And that was after telling him that he wanted him to meet someone. And that was it. That was all he had to say. Daryl welcomed me with—with open arms. And he's never looked back. He's never asked any questions that I didn't invite him to ask. Daryl doesn't owe us any more explanation for what he does with his life than just that—letting us know about what we should know about so we know who to accept. Who to get used to."

"We're talking about a relationship," Carol said. "A real relationship."

Andrea nodded her head once.

"I know that," she confirmed.

"I'm still married to Ed," Carol said. "I've—barely even been here. I've barely been away from Ed. You have to think it's too early for me to talk about a relationship with Daryl."

Andrea laughed to herself.

"I don't have to think anything," Andrea said. "And what I do think doesn't really matter. Your marriage to Ed's been over for a long time as far as I can tell. At least the part of your marriage that mattered. The rest is dissolving what's on paper. If you're happy and Daryl's happy?" Andrea shrugged.

"The whole town will talk," Carol said.

"Fuck the whole town," Andrea said. She laughed to herself again. "You think they won't talk anyway? You think they don't? I've lived in a handful of small towns during my life and the one thing they all had in common was that people talked. And usually it was out of their asses about things they had no business talking about. I don't pay it any attention. Merle doesn't. Daryl doesn't. It's kind of—it's kind of a Dixon _thing_ not to listen to what other people say. Does it bother you?"

"Everywhere I've ever been they've had a reason to talk about me," Carol said.

"Then this is just another reason," Andrea said.

Carol smiled to herself, a little amused by Andrea's way of seeing things, but also relieved.

"A better reason," Carol ventured.

Andrea smiled at her. She looked out the door that she'd been in and out a few times. Carol followed her line of vision.

Outside, Merle and Daryl were bullshitting around the grill. Maybe they were still cooking something or maybe they were just standing out there wasting time. It was hard to tell. Sophia was busying herself with trying to catch little white and yellow butterflies with a net that Andrea had brought her. Thus far, it appeared she'd failed to catch any of them—or maybe she was simply releasing them as soon as they were caught.

"Sophia is excited," Andrea said, "to have a mother. A real one. She's excited to talk about you—and she can't talk about you with anybody but us right now. She's excited to show you off—but she can only show you off to us." She laughed to herself. "And Daryl's excited too. For as long as I've known him? There hasn't been anybody in his life. Now there is and—like father, like daughter. He wants to talk about you. He wants to show you off. And we're the only ones he can do that with. Don't stay in the kitchen all day and take that away from them. Not from either of them."

"Did Daryl tell you that he saw Ed?" Carol asked.

"I knew anyway," Andrea said. "But I didn't know if he told you."

"Ed's around," Carol said. "And he's pissed."

"And he's in even more trouble with the law," Andrea said. "Ed showing his ass in the grocery store only helped our case. There are witnesses, now, to the way that he acts. There are witnesses to his anger and the fact that he's a threat." She shook her head at Carol. "But don't worry. It doesn't mean anything. It doesn't mean that—he's coming after you. If anything? It should make you feel a little better that we know he's just spending his time getting drunk and feeling sorry for himself."

"Ed's always excelled at getting drunk and feeling sorry for himself," Carol said. She shook her head. "But maybe I'm not doing too bad of a job at feeling sorry for myself, even if I'm not drinking."

"Then get up," Andrea said. "Stop feeling sorry for yourself. Grab a beer if it helps. If it doesn't? Grab an iced tea. Let's go outside. See if we're ever actually getting these burgers and hotdogs, because I'm starving."

Carol's stomach was still churning over the possibility, but she felt a little more confident now than she had before. She did help herself to a beer from the fridge—marveling over the fact that Merle had bought enough that it appeared he thought they were having Guns N' Roses over for dinner—and she followed Andrea out to the porch. Before she stepped off the porch, Carol caught Andrea's shoulder with her hand to get her attention. Andrea hummed at her in question.

"Does Merle feel the same way you do?" Carol asked.

Andrea smiled at her and then she winked at her.

"Merle feels however I want him to feel," Andrea said. "You'll learn that trick with the Dixon men soon enough."

Carol laughed to herself and followed Andrea off the porch. As soon as her feet hit the grass of the backyard, a strange feeling since she'd barely been outside the house since her arrival there, Sophia loped over and wrapped her arms around Carol. Carol dropped a hand, rubbing her daughter's back and half-way listening as she told her about all the bugs she'd managed to catch with the net that she'd been toying with.

"Look who I found in the kitchen," Andrea declared.

"What was you doin' hiding in there?" Merle asked, accepting the kiss on the cheek that Andrea gave to him before he wrapped an arm around her waist and swayed the woman from side to side.

"She was waiting on you two to bring the food in," Andrea said. "But it appears that we're never going to eat."

Daryl laughed.

"Andrea's always hungry," Daryl said, directing his comment to Carol like this was information that she needed to know while she was collecting up bits of knowledge about her new-found family. "Cool your jets. These burgers is almost done. Woulda been done sooner, but some damn body forgot to light the grill."

Merle laughed to himself.

"Ain't my house," he said. "Ain't my responsibility. 'Sides, lil' brother—if you was in your right mind? You'da checked the damn grill to see if it was lit instead of waitin' half a damn hour for it to warm up 'fore you lifted the lid." He looked at Carol and smiled. She swallowed. The smile felt welcoming. It felt like that's how Merle _wanted_ it to feel. She did her best to put on her own smile so that he'd get the same feeling from it, if that's what he was searching for when he searched her face. He rocked Andrea again, clearly manipulating her body with a finger he'd looped through her belt loop, and winked at Carol. "And I ain't takin' responsibility, lil' brother, for bein' the one that's done got you outta your damn mind."


	27. Chapter 27

**AN: Here we go, another chapter here.**

 **Warning because this is an Ed chapter.**

 **I hope that you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

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People in small towns ran their mouths like it was a sport. They could say that football was the greatest sport in the South, but really it was gossip. Catching information one place and throwing it somewhere else—that's how most people got their exercise. Jaws, in small towns, were always in excellent shape.

 _Daryl Dixon_.

That was the asshole that had gotten him arrested. It was his fault that Ed had another charge of drunk and disorderly against him now—it was Daryl Dixon's fault that people believed that Ed was a troublemaker. Daryl Dixon had soiled his good name in this town. There was always that asshole, no matter where Ed went, that caused him trouble. Here, he'd known nothing but grief. And Daryl Dixon had certainly been one of them that had caused him a good deal of it.

Ed could easily remember Daryl's name. His name had been thrown around enough that it hadn't been difficult to hear it, and it had almost been burned into Ed's brain.

 _Daryl Dixon—the fucking hailed hero of the A and P._

People in town were talking about it.

They were talking about Ed getting drunk and causing a disturbance that would go on his record. They were talking about the situation that led him to get drunk—a good for nothing wife that had run out on him and had the audacity to slap a restraining order on him like he hadn't been the best damn thing that happened to her. Just like he wasn't the reason that she was alive. She'd have never made it without him.

Someone that damn inept at everything wouldn't ever make it without someone to tell her what the hell to do, how to do it, and when it ought to be done by.

Ed knew that wherever the hell the bitch had run to, she wasn't alone. But finding her was trickier than Ed might have thought it would be.

Her parents were dead. She'd believed some bullshit about true love had caused them to die the way they did. Her father had gone first—massive heart attack more than likely caused by the fact that he liked everything deep fried and covered in gravy—and her mother had gone right after from a similar event. Carol had called it a broken heart—she'd been so in love that she couldn't imagine living without him. Ed just figured that the apple didn't fall far from the tree and Carol's mother had been as useless without her husband as Carol was without him. Without someone to tell her how to do the simplest things in life, she'd simply died because she hadn't had the sense to keep on living.

Carol didn't have parents. She had no siblings.

In fact, the only family that Carol had were some aunts and uncles and a handful of cousins that branched off on both sides of her family tree. She'd never been really close to any of them—seeing them only on major holidays—and after her parents' death she'd lost contact with them entirely.

That was how Ed liked it. Family complicated a marriage. They wanted to stick their noses where they didn't belong. They wanted to give opinions that nobody ever asked for. And because they were family, they thought they had that right. They thought it was their God-given right to say what they wanted about shit that didn't have a single thing to do with them.

Ed had cut out those once or twice a year visits the first time that someone had the balls to say something about how he chose to run his home. They didn't understand that a woman like Carol quickly and easily got out of line if he wasn't teaching her how to handle her home and her husband—and Ed didn't have the time or the patience to explain to them that he was only doing what was best for Carol. He didn't want to punish her, but she didn't learn any other way.

Carol didn't have any friends, either. She could barely manage the simple tasks of running a home—getting meals cooked and keeping the place clean—and of taking care of Ed. She had a hard enough time being there for Ed the way he wanted her to be—the way she was supposed to be as his wife. She didn't have time for friends and allowing her to go and run around with other women would only put ideas into her head—bad ideas that came from other women who didn't know how to run their own homes and treat their husbands with the respect they were due.

Carol wasn't alone out there, though, because she wasn't smart enough to survive on her own, but Ed was having a pretty hard time figuring out where the hell she might be. He couldn't figure out who she even knew well enough that they would take her in.

And enough time off of work—made under the guise that he had to handle things legally with the false accusations that she was launching against him—told him that she wasn't at any of the shelters within a ninety mile radius.

She wasn't with her lawyer either. Ed had watched the blonde as she came and went. He'd watched her house. She wasn't too damn smart, either, about her keeping her blinds closed and her curtains drawn. She didn't seem to mind displaying her business—and her husband's business—to anyone who might take an interest in it. The poor asshole she was married to had gone and drawn a pretty sorry hand when it came to marriage, even if he was too damn stupid to realize that he'd be better off without her. She wasn't bad to look at, but sometimes that was a dangerous trait to have in a wife. She'd never treat her husband with the respect that he was due—and he was too stupid to realize what he deserved from her.

Ed had considered helping him out—just because he seemed like he didn't deserve to suffer the way she probably made him suffer and because she was the cunt who was filing everything against him in Carol's name. It was probably her idea. She'd probably created half the bullshit she was piling into her reports.

But Ed had left it all as it was. As easy as it would've been to do away with the lawyer and, more than likely, to guarantee that her body was never even found, he didn't need to take the risk. Because, if he could find Carol, he could sort the whole damn thing out. If he could talk to her—get her alone where she was likely to listen to reason—he could get her to drop this whole damn thing.

And he was a reasonable man, so he'd let her come back. She'd have to be punished, but he'd let her come back. He wasn't unreasonable at all. He was an understanding man. And he understood that women like Carol were too stupid for their own good. She did the things she did because she was too stupid to realize how good she had it. She was too damn dumb to appreciate all that he did for her and all that he gave her. Women like Carol were like dogs. They didn't realize how kind their master really was and all that he really did for them. And, like dogs, women like Carol needed to be taught the most basic of things. She was simply a little more hardheaded than most and it would take a lot more time on Ed's part to teach her all that she needed to learn. He would take her back, though, and give her another chance. This time he might even succeed at teaching her how to be a proper wife and how to appreciate what the hell she had.

At least that's what the hell Ed had thought right up until he'd crossed paths with Daryl Dixon and things had started to make sense.

Merle Dixon was married to the bitch blonde that was trying to wreck Ed's life and was filling Carol's head full of bullshit. Daryl Dixon was Merle Dixon's brother. As soon as he put those two pieces of information together, things had clicked. The blonde had hidden Carol out herself. She'd decided to put her somewhere where Ed wouldn't think to look. But Ed was smarter than that cunt had given him credit for. He was smarter than her with all her degrees that were nothing more than pieces of paper.

He might've still considered letting Carol off the hook with a slap on the wrist when he dragged her back home, but then something else struck a nerve.

A little easy prying around town and he'd gotten the goods on Daryl Dixon without any problem. Daryl was new to town, and that meant that his name was in everybody's mouth. His story was the favorite bedtime story of every single town gossip there was.

Daryl had a bastard child. The mother had abandoned the kid at birth and Daryl had raised her alone. He'd been fucked over by a woman who hadn't bothered to stick around and raise what the hell she'd made by spreading her legs. The whore had simply left him high and dry with the girl.

A girl who had been born just about the time that Carol had given birth to _their_ child—a girl that Ed hadn't exactly wanted in the first place. Women were trouble and he was sure, just as Carol had been too damn much like her mother, that the daughter would just end up being another thorn in his ass that he had to take care of because she wouldn't have the sense to know how the hell she was supposed to behave or what she was supposed to do for her family.

The girl had died, though, at birth. At least, that's what Carol told Ed. She'd been born not breathing. The simplest damn thing in nature and Carol couldn't even do it right. Ed hadn't lost much sleep over the whole thing, honestly, when it had happened, but it was disrupting his sleep now.

There hadn't been a funeral for the baby. He'd never actually seen her. The hospital handled it. That's what Carol told him. He'd never really bothered to check, either. He'd gotten the bill from the hospital and he'd paid it without looking at much of the information beyond the price tag—what it had cost him for Carol to fuck up and kill a kid that she had no business trying to bring into the world in the first damn place. She was hardly equipped to handle taking care of herself, her home, and her husband. She sure as shit didn't need another responsibility to fuck up. Ed had paid the bill without really looking at it and he'd punished Carol for costing him so damn much money—money she shouldn't have cost him in the first place—with nothing to show for it.

But now? It suddenly made sense.

Carol had been cheating on him for _years_.

She'd been whoring around with this Daryl Dixon—and any number of other possible people—and that's why the hell she'd been such a terrible wife in the first damn place. She was too stupid to handle one man, less likely more than one. She'd been splitting herself up between Ed and everyone else, always giving him less of herself than he deserved.

She'd been whoring around and bringing other men back to his home. Back to his bed. He'd been sharing her with probably more men than he could even imagine.

He'd given her a home and a life. He'd given her everything that she needed to live and she'd repaid him by making a fool out of him. He'd gone through their whole damn marriage with probably everyone they met knowing the truth about her and what she was doing. He couldn't even imagine how many times he'd probably shaken hands with some asshole—or bought something from someone at a store—without even knowing that the asshole had fucked his wife and, possibly, was still fucking her as soon as Ed's back was turned.

She'd gone so far as to get knocked up by Daryl and, when she hadn't had the sense to end the pregnancy early enough, like she'd probably done dozens of times, she'd had the child and then left it with Daryl.

She'd had the audacity to bring her pregnant ass home and make Ed foot the bills to take care of this man's bastard child before it was born. She'd had the audacity to waddle her fat ass around, eating more food than she should've been allotted in the first damn place, and drive up the bills in Ed's house while she'd carried Daryl's child. She'd made Ed pay the hospital bills for her to have the bastard child in a hospital instead of in some ditch where a bitch like her deserved to have the pups they picked up whoring around.

And she'd never given Ed a child because she'd probably ended those pregnancies early. She'd probably realized she was knocked up and, not knowing who the hell those babies belonged to, she'd probably ended the whole thing. She'd gotten rid of Ed's children because she couldn't tell them apart from the bastards she'd picked up whoring around. And even if she hadn't gotten rid of them, they would have been contaminated by everything else that had passed through her body.

Ed had taken care of Carol and she'd never done anything but cause him grief. And, on top of that, she'd made a fool of him.

Ed didn't like the idea of being made out to be a fool.

He was done with Carol. He'd promised to be with her until death parted them, but she'd promised to be a good wife to him and she'd always been anything except that. He wanted her to know, though, that he knew what she'd done. He knew what kind of woman she'd been. He knew that she had never deserved him. She'd never been worthy of him just like she'd never been worth anything. He wanted her to pay for everything she'd cost him and everything she'd done to him.

Ed didn't like being made out to be a fool, and he wanted Carol to know that. He wanted her to pay.

And she would.


	28. Chapter 28

**AN: Hi everyone, here's another chapter here.**

 **Looking at the plans I have for this story, I'm estimating we've got just a little bit more to go in this story.**

 **I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

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"You promised I could finish it!" Sophia whined.

She was tired. She was exhausted. Her eyes showed it. They were slightly bloodshot and the skin around them had taken on the slightly purple hue that meant that she'd pushed too hard to stay awake. It was past her bedtime and even Daryl felt it—because it was past his bedtime too.

It was Saturday night, so they could all easily sleep late the next morning, but all good things had to come to an end at some point.

"It's time for bed, Sophia," Daryl said. "We're all goin' to bed and that means you gotta go to bed too. You ain't gonna have no fun playin' the game if you don't got nobody to play with."

"You promised," Sophia whined again.

She could barely put the energy behind the whining that such a severe complaint merited. She was simply too exhausted for it. She'd already given up sitting on her own accord and she was slumped with her head in Carol's lap. She only sat up, every now and again, to half-heartedly take her turn. She wasn't enjoying the game she was so desperately attempting to continue playing.

Carol passed her hand gently over Sophia's face and hair. When Sophia closed her eyes to the sensation, Daryl was a little concerned that she wouldn't be able to open them again and he'd have to just carry her to bed and forego brushing her teeth for the night.

"You did promise," Carol teased Daryl with a smirk.

"I'm tired, you're tired, and Soph—you're tired," Daryl said. "It's time to call it a night. I promised you could finish the game when I thought you were gonna pick Uno or something. I wasn't planning on you picking Monopoly."

"Why don't we put it on the table?" Carol offered. "Then the game can just—wait until morning. We'll finish it tomorrow."

Sophia opened her eyes from where she was resting them and offered Carol a smile for her suggestion. The only thing better than a game that could potentially last all night was a game that had the chance of stretching over two days. Daryl wasn't foolish enough to believe, after all, that Sophia's greatest interest was in playing the game, but rather it was simply guaranteeing that they were spending more time together.

For the time being, she seemed unable to get enough of the "time".

"Can we do that?" Sophia asked, looking at Daryl. "Can we save it for tomorrow?"

Daryl tried to pretend like he had to carefully consider things, but he knew he wasn't too good at making Sophia sweat. He laughed to himself.

"Yeah," he said. "We'll put the game on the table. Just like it is. But right now? Get to the bathroom and brush your teeth."

Carol pushed Sophia up like the girl might need help sitting up. But as soon as it was decided that she was going to bed, she really didn't seem half as tired as she had before. Sophia got to her feet and started toward the bathroom, stopping in the middle of the hallway and turning back before she made it there.

"You're both gonna read me a story?" Sophia asked.

"One of us is gonna read," Daryl said. "The other's gonna listen."

"You both gotta read," Sophia protested.

"Long game," Daryl said. "One story. So you just figure out, while you're brushing your teeth, which one of us you want to read."

"Mama," Sophia declared, apparently not having to think too hard about it, before she turned and finished the trip to the bathroom.

Carol laughed to herself and turned her eyes in Daryl's direction.

"Sorry," she said, keeping her voice low.

"For what?" Daryl asked, heaving himself up off the floor. He offered her a hand and helped her get to her own feet.

"For—her wanting me to read, I guess?" Carol said, clearly unsure of why she was apologizing. Daryl understood it, though. She felt the need—almost like a compulsion—to apologize for absolutely everything. She'd been taught, and Daryl knew the lesson was one that took a great deal of time to undo, that her entire existence was something for which she should be apologetic.

"I'm glad she wants you to read," Daryl said. "And—I'm even more glad that you don't get bothered by her hanging all over you and wanting you to do everything for her."

"I like it," Carol said. "I'm—I guess I'm—is grateful too dramatic to say?"

Daryl shook his head.

"No," he offered. "It's alright to say. I know what'cha mean. Come on, Mama. It's time to read before Soph turns into a pumpkin."

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Being in Daryl's arms was still a strange sensation to Carol. She was very slowly growing more accustomed to it, but it still seemed odd. The way it felt, when Daryl held her, was a feeling that she simply wasn't used to.

But she loved it, and she almost feared losing it.

She could feel the affection in his touch. She could feel the pleasure that her nearness brought him. It almost felt like a vibration that transferred from his skin to hers.

She shivered nearly every time his lips found contact with some odd part of her skin that he seemed to want to pay homage to. Skin that was used to standing up against rough and unloving treatment was now being delicately caressed and kissed like she was fragile and breakable.

Carol enjoyed it, but the invitation to vulnerability almost scared her.

"This has been the best day," Carol breathed out.

"Mmm hmmm," Daryl hummed out, the sound carrying long and low.

"The best day," Carol mused again. It was true. It had been the best day that Carol could imagine. The best day that she'd never really dared to imagine before. But there were insecurities that still churned around inside her body—fears she hoped would disappear with time but that hadn't quite left her yet. "What'd your brother say?" Carol asked, running her fingers through Daryl's hair as he held her in the bed that they now shared.

"What?" Daryl asked.

"Your brother," Carol said. "What'd he say?"

"What do you mean?" Daryl asked, breaking away from the nuzzling he would probably deny that he enjoyed to such a great extent.

"About us," Carol clarified. "I know he must have said something. What'd he say?"

"The hell's he got to say?" Daryl asked with a laugh. "Nobody pulled his damn string, there weren't no invitation for him to say nothing."

Carol laughed to herself.

"You don't usually have to invite people to say things," Carol said. "Everyone wants to share their opinions. What'd he say about us? I know he must've said something. When I wasn't around. When I was in the house. Does he think—you're making a mistake? We're moving too fast?"

Daryl hummed.

"You don't know my brother too good," Daryl said. "But I'm bettin' you don't actually want to know what Merle's opinion on nothin' sounds like."

Carol considered the many implications of such a statement.

"I do," she said. "I want to know. I want to know—what Merle had to say."

Daryl pulled away from her then and sat up in the bed. Her eyes were adjusted to the darkness of the room well enough that she could see him, some illumination coming to the dark room from the outside light that shined through the window and kept the house and neighborhood from ever being entirely dark.

"He said you looked like a damn fine piece of ass," Daryl said with a smirk. He raised his eyebrows at Carol. "There—you wanted to know? That's what Merle's opinion on shit is."

Carol wasn't sure if she fully believed Daryl. He wouldn't lie to her, and she was confident of that, but she was almost certain that he would bend the truth or eliminate pieces of it because of how he feared they would make her feel.

"What about us?" Carol asked.

"What about us?" Daryl asked.

"What'd he say about us?" Carol asked. "About you? About—this?"

Daryl brought his thumb to his mouth. His nervous reaction to things was to chew at the dried cuticle skin that formed around his closely shorn nails. He would harass it almost mercilessly. It was an indication to Carol that Merle had said _something_ , and it was something that Daryl was trying to figure out if he wanted to share or not.

"He didn't say much," Daryl said.

"But he said something," Carol pressed. "You can tell me. I can handle whatever it is."

Daryl hesitated. He hummed at her. He harassed his cuticle a bit more. Then he sighed.

"Thinks things is happenin' fast," Daryl said.

"They are," Carol said.

"They are," Daryl said. "But—that seems to be how the hell we do things. And he knows that too. Merle—when he met Andrea? I don't think they went out on two or three dates 'fore he was tellin' me he felt about her like he ain't never felt about a woman in his whole life. She had him crazy. He said he couldn't think of nothing else except—except when he was gonna see her again. If he said what she wanted him to say. If he done the right thing. If a woman like that—with all them brains and all that education—would ever really be serious about a man like Merle who would rather go to a Drag Race any day over the theater or some shit. He was pissin' his pants the day he come to work—jumpin' around like he couldn't even stand to be in his own skin—carryin' a ring around that he was trying to decide if he ought to give it to her or he ought to just return it to the store and give up on his fool idea of trying to make sure he seen her every single day 'cause she weren't going nowhere."

Carol smiled to herself.

"And Andrea said yes because Andrea loves Merle," Carol offered.

"She said yes," Daryl agreed. "Either because she loves him or—she's crazy. Maybe she's glutton for punishment. Hell—she might be on a mission from God. I don't know. They bought them a small house. Then they got them a little bigger one after that. They were moved twice before they got to their first anniversary. They were married and moved twice before they'd known each other a year and a half. We—I guess we just don't do things slow. Once you know you like it...you can just feel like something's gotta change. You're just—it's like you're standing just outside a door. You gotta know what's on the other side. You gotta take a chance and just—go on."

"What if you don't know what's on the other side?" Carol asked. "That door—could be the threshold to hell. I've walked through that one before."

Daryl laughed to himself.

"Or it could be the damn gates to heaven," he said. "One way or another—burn your ass up or make you happier'n you ever thought you could be—you gotta know."

Carol swallowed.

"That's how Merle felt? When he married Andrea?" Carol asked.

"The way I see it," Daryl said. "Way I feel too."

"Like you want to—go on through that door?" Carol asked.

"Just waitin' on you," Daryl said. He laughed to himself. "I'm knockin'. Just—waitin' on you to answer it."

"Ed always said it was me that ruined our marriage," Carol said. "He said that—once he was married to me? I changed. I was impossible to live with. He said he loved me, but I made him the way that he was."

Carol knew that Daryl had heard it from her before. She knew that he was likely to hear it again. And she was grateful that he didn't seem to mind. He had a patience that didn't seem to ever run out. Maybe he was wired that way or maybe it was raising Sophia that had made him that way. But Carol appreciated his patience. She appreciated everything about him.

"An asshole is always an asshole," Daryl said. "Damn near borned that way. You didn't make him nothing that he weren't set on being from the word go."

"You don't know that," Carol said. "You don't know if being married to me would—change your life entirely. And not in a good way."

"You right," Daryl said, quite sincerely. "I don't know. And you don't know what it'd do to your life neither. I didn't know what the hell was gonna happen when I brought Sophia in off the doorstep years ago neither. Didn't know how my life would change or how I was gonna feel about it. But—I don't regret it. Never have. Not even one single solitary day since she come into my life."

"I can't marry you," Carol said. "I'm still married."

"Won't always be that way," Daryl said. "And I can wait. Waited this long. I can wait however long you need. Just—lettin' you know it's you that's needing the waiting. It ain't me." He fell silent for a moment and then he spoke again, starting his words with a hum that suggested he wasn't entirely settled on them, but he was putting them out there anyway. "If you wanted to marry me tomorrow? I'd do it. Once you made up your mind? Tomorrow or next year—it's all the same."

"People will talk," Carol said. "That wouldn't bother you? You're sure of that?"

Daryl laughed to himself.

"Gonna do that anyway," he offered. "That's one thing they're good for. I might as well be gettin' the good out of whatever the hell it is they're talkin' about me for."

"I love you," Carol said, a little afraid of the fact that the words were so desperately true for her.

"I think I've loved you for a long time," Daryl said with a laugh. "So it's good to see we're heading in the same direction. Now it's you that's gotta ask yourself if—well, if you're sure you want this. Me. Sophia. Twenty-four seven bein' a wife and a Ma. What I got to offer, because it ain't a lot. What I might want in the future, because it might be a lot. Might even—wanna do it again, ya know? Another kid. Lil' brother or sister for Soph. You wantin' me? All that? You don't know no better than me what you might be walking into."

Carol laughed to herself, her chest fluttering a little at the thought. It was a lot to even entertain the idea of going directly from marriage to Ed to marriage to someone else. But Daryl didn't feel like "just someone else". Daryl didn't make Carol feel like "just someone else".

"I don't know," Carol admitted. "But—I'm dying to find out."


	29. Chapter 29

**AN: Here we are, another chapter here.**

 **There are about two/three more chapters to go in this one.**

 **I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

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Daryl sat in his chair and tied the laces on the dirty brown boots that he always wore to work. They were splattered with paint and primer at this point. Wear and the amount of stooping and kneeling that he did left them scratched and scuffed, and left the sole cracking at the point where his foot bent. He bought the same pair of shoes for himself every year to replace the old in the same size and color. They were tried, true, and comfortable once he wore the stiff ones a couple of days and got them broken in. Once Daryl found something he liked, he wasn't too keen on looking to change things up.

Daryl laughed to himself when he caught Carol eyeing the boots from where she was standing in the kitchen, waiting to wash Sophia's cereal bowl so she could declare all the breakfast dishes washed besides the one that she kept eating small bites from at intervals.

"I seen you put these outside last night," Daryl said. "Found 'em on the porch after I had to search the whole house while you were showering."

Carol hummed at him.

"They're filthy," she said. "It seemed to me like the porch was the best place for them. I think you need another pair of shoes, Daryl. Surely you can afford that."

"I got another pair," Daryl said. "Change 'em out once or twice a year, but it ain't quite time to change 'em out."

"Maybe it _is_ time to break them out," Carol offered. "It's worth at least considering."

Daryl laughed to himself.

"Perks of living with me," Daryl said. "You get to live with my nasty ass shoes. I promise—I break out the new pair and it won't be long before you can't tell the difference in that pair and this one."

"Maybe they'll go on the porch too, then," Carol said, her voice rising up at the end with her amusement.

Sophia sat at the table, half reading the back of her cereal box while she ate and half watching the back and forth between Carol and Daryl.

It was nice to have that back and forth with an adult sometimes. Especially one that wasn't one of the assholes that he worked with. The exchange was much more pleasant when his "partner" was Carol. Daryl enjoyed, honestly, having the chance to have that kind of back and forth with Carol. Even though he'd had to go in search of his boots—not finding them where he usually left them—he liked the knowledge that he was sharing his life with someone who was finally feeling comfortable enough to do things like move his dirty shoes to the back porch because she felt like they were tracking mess into the house that she'd have to clean up.

It was nauseatingly domestic and Daryl was enjoying it far more than he would have dared to admit out loud.

And Sophia was enjoying it too. That much was clear just from the expression she wore while she ate breakfast. Cereal alone had never amused her so much.

"Maybe they will," Daryl said with a chuckle. "Don't do 'em no harm long as it's not raining."

"No," Carol said with a snort. "We wouldn't want them to accidentally get washed or anything. That would be a tragedy."

Daryl hummed at her, trying to cover over the fact that he wanted to give her kudos for actually coming up with a witty reply to what he'd said.

"I'ma have you know they get washed at least once a day. It's prob'ly once a day I'm out there washing out some car we gotta give back and they get a good soaking then. Cracks the leather, though. And if my feet ain't in 'em when it happens? Insides get real wet and then they don't dry out forever. Start to stink bad enough I can't even stand myself."

Carol crinkled her face up in response to his description of the smell of the souring shoes.

"Eeewww, Daddy!" Sophia protested. "I'm trying to eat."

Carol laughed and glanced at Sophia. She smirked at Daryl then.

"Maybe I'll work on that too," Carol said. "There are ways, you know, to fight smelly shoes."

"Not when the feet they come off are so stinky," Sophia added, looking back and forth at the two of them with a smirk curling across her lips.

"Yeah," Daryl said. "You would be one what knows about stinky feet. I've sure woke up with my share of 'em in my face where you get all turned around in the bed."

"My feet don't stink!" Sophia declared loudly and quickly. She wasn't offended, and that much was clear, but she had always been the type that wanted to get involved in the back-and-forth exchanges that took place around her. She'd never been the kind of child of that was content to live under the "children are seen and not heard" rule. But, then again, she'd never actually been raised to be aware that such a rule was in place in some rungs of society.

Finishing with the laces, Daryl stood up and shook his pants' legs down over the top of his boots. Then he walked over to the bar that somewhat divided the kitchen and living room—and where Carol had found a basket to catch all the odds and ends he normally emptied directly from his pockets onto the bar—and gathered up the contents of the basket to fill his pockets once more.

"I ain't gonna be gone too long," Daryl said. "Not today. Nobody else is workin' today, though, and I got a few things it would help me to get ahead on."

"Will you be home in time for lunch?" Carol asked.

Daryl sucked his teeth and considered it, running through all the things he had hoped to accomplish while he had free reign of his space.

"Late lunch?" He asked.

"We can make it as late as you want," Carol said. "As long as it's not running into dinner."

"Make it one or so," Daryl said, "and I'll be home. Got a couple things here I'd like to do too. Long as it's a nice day—might tackle the grass in that back yard. Gettin' high enough we could lose Soph out there."

"We would definitely lose a puppy," Sophia offered.

Daryl bit the inside of his cheek. Sophia wanted a dog in the worst possible way, but Daryl hadn't really felt able to take on the responsibilities of a puppy before. They hadn't had, before, anywhere that one could run free during the day—it was one of the reasons that he liked the fenced in backyard of the house—and Daryl hadn't had the time and energy it would take to handle work, taking care of Sophia and the house, and teaching a puppy all the things that it needed to know.

But now, he wasn't exactly doing things alone anymore. Now there was a little less stress and demand on his plate.

Now there was someone else there, and that might mean that they finally got Sophia the dog she'd asked for, religiously, for every Christmas and birthday that had passed since she was five years old.

Daryl walked over to the table and put his hand on Sophia's shoulder. He patted her shoulder and slid his hand closer to her neck, gently squeezing until he hit the spot where she was ticklish and she turned her head to the side, trapping his fingers between her shoulder and face. He laughed to himself and pulled his hand free to release her from the tickling torture.

"We ain't the only ones that lives here now," Daryl said. "And Carol and me ain't exactly talked about a puppy."

"It's a good thing to talk about," Sophia said. "You should prob'ly do it. And soon. I'm not getting any younger."

Daryl shook his head. Once glance at Carol, who was standing by the sink and eating the breakfast in spread out bites that she didn't seem to think she could sit down and enjoy at the table, told him that she was fighting laughter as well.

"Yeah," Daryl said. "I hear ya. We'll talk about it. Just remember—only good kids get puppies, so you ain't gonna 'cause no trouble today. Not when we might be talkin' about puppies tonight, right?"

Sophia grinned up at him and shook her head vigorously.

She'd be a model child today—not that she wasn't normally quite a good kid, at least in Daryl's opinion.

Daryl leaned down and placed a kiss on the side of Sophia's face. She turned her head and placed a kiss on his cheek as best she could, leaving a little milk behind, and then returned to eating the soggy remains of the cereal that she was taking her precious time finishing.

Daryl walked over to Carol, then, and placed his hand on her shoulder like he'd done with Sophia. He'd learned that any such movement elicited a jump from her if she didn't see it coming, so Daryl tried to be as obvious about his intentions as he could. This time she didn't jump. Instead, she leaned her face to the side—much the way Sophia had done—and, instead of trapping his fingers, she nuzzled them with her cheek.

"You know you can sit down and eat at the table, right?" Daryl said. "All at once—like you don't gotta just keep stealin' bites of your food."

Carol smiled at him.

"I know," she said. "I just—I guess I'm used to just eating while I do other things. I'll sit down for lunch. What do you want?"

"Sandwich is fine," Daryl said.

"One?" Carol asked.

"Two," Sophia said quickly. "One with just ham and cheese and the yellow bag potato chips, and one with peanut butter and jelly because it tastes good, but you're still hungry if you eat it alone."

Carol looked at Daryl and raised her eyebrows at him as the smile she was swallowing back took its place on her lips. Daryl smiled at her and nodded his head.

"She's right," he said. "Knows me. What can I say?"

"Creature of habit?" Carol asked.

Daryl thought about the question and nodded his head.

"Yeah, I guess," he said. "That and—if I like somethin', I don't really see much need in changing it up."

"That's oddly comforting," Carol said quietly, her smile softening. Daryl dipped his head and offered his lips to her and she took him up on the offer, planting a soft kiss on his lips that he could take with him to work.

"You gonna be OK here today?" He asked.

"Fine," Carol said. "We'll be staying inside all day. At least—I will. I was talking to Miss Sophia earlier and it turns out that she's never cooked dinner before. So I thought—if it's OK with you—we might work on that? I'll help Sophia cook something and, maybe, we'll bake something for dessert?"

Daryl glanced at Sophia. She was watching them, the cereal growing ever soggier as she forgot that she was supposed to be eating it, and she quickly turned her head when she caught Daryl looking at her to pretend that she hadn't been watching. He saw her rock back and forth in her chair, though, doing her own little kind of dance in anticipation of a special cooking lesson with her mother—and, possibly, of serving the spoils of her labor to Daryl for dinner.

"Better'n OK," Daryl said. "Sounds like a good idea. You got what you need or—you need me to run get somethin' 'fore I head in?"

"It's all here," Carol assured him.

"And if it ain't," Daryl said, "Merle ain't workin' today so you can call over there if you need to and tell his lazy ass to run to the store for you."

Carol laughed to herself and shook her head.

"I think I'll hold off making demands of people just yet," she said. "We'll be fine. And we'll have sandwiches ready for you when you get home for lunch."

Daryl hummed at her and kissed her once more, well aware that their daughter was watching them with some interest. She seemed to like to "catch" any exchange of affection between the two of them and, in the past few days, they'd been indulging her a little with a few kisses here and there and some obvious touching of hands or shoulders within her sight.

"Soph—you go outside? Don't stray far," Daryl told Sophia. "Remember your Ma can't go looking for you. Don't let me hear you freaked her out or anything. Stay in the yard."

"I'm not going anywhere," Sophia assured him.

"We can handle it, Daryl," Carol assured him. "We're going to cook and we're going to—see what else we can get into. We're going to have a nice day."

"I'm sure you are," Daryl said.

As soon as he'd said the last of his goodbyes to the both of them, and left Sophia negotiating a little something else to top off her breakfast of soggy cereal, Daryl left the house and closed the door behind him. He dismounted the front steps quickly and made his way to the truck. The neighborhood was quiet. Most of the houses hadn't even been sold yet, since the development was so new, but the few that had sold were mostly owned by old people and small families like his own who were seeking a quiet and peaceful existence.

The sun was barely up and his only known neighbors, whose house was two doors down and across the street, seemed to be enjoying their lazy Saturday by sleeping in. There wasn't any proof that they were up and about. Even the big German Shepherd that usually greeted him by barking at him from the backyard of the yellow house wasn't out in his fence.

Daryl lit a cigarette as soon as he was in the truck and sat smoking it for a moment while he sorted through the mail that he'd never brought into the house—always grabbing it out of the mailbox through the truck window as he pulled up—and then he finally put on his shades and backed the truck from the driveway.

He was anxious to get to work—a sensation that was not entirely unknown to him—but more than that he was anxious to get home because he knew, inside, Carol and Sophia were already plotting how they were going to spend their Saturday and Daryl didn't want to miss any more of it than he absolutely had to.


	30. Chapter 30

**AN: Here we are, another chapter here.**

 **There's a trigger warning on this chapter for (domestic) violence.**

 **I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

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Carol checked to make sure that the front door was locked after Daryl's departure and she made a half of a peanut butter sandwich for Sophia to supplement whatever nutrition she might have missed from picking at the cereal that, according to Daryl, she'd selected off the shelf even though she apparently didn't care for the flavor as much as she must have thought she would.

When Sophia had finished her sandwich and washed it down with what was left of her milk, she disappeared to her room and came back a few minutes later dressed and holding the "bug net" that she'd gotten from Merle and Andrea. With Carol's blessing, she slipped out the back door to run around the fenced in yard and collect whatever nature of creepy crawlies might make their way into her net.

Carol fixed herself a cup of coffee from the liquid that was leftover in the pot and switched the pot off to cool. She looked through the books on Sophia's bookshelf and selected one that, though it was written for young adults, looked like a promising story with which she could pass a little time, and then she stepped out onto the back porch and sat down in one of the cheap foldable chairs that had remained there after it had been bought for the small barbecue they'd had.

Drinking coffee and reading the book while Sophia played in the yard felt strangely _normal_ to Carol. It was a life that Carol had often dreamed of before, but she'd never experienced it—the quiet kind of life where Daryl was at work and she was simply sitting on the back porch, drinking coffee and reading a book, while her daughter played in the yard.

It was amazingly, beautifully, wonderfully _normal._

And normal, Carol knew as well as anyone, was always an invitation to chaos.

But she hadn't anticipated the invasion of chaos into her day—and she hadn't prepared for it.

She almost didn't understand what was happening when it _did_ happen.

Carol abandoned the book when her coffee mug was empty and stepped inside to wash it and turn it upside down beside the sink to dry. She started a load of clothes in the washing machine, nearly needing to wash something daily to keep up with all the clothes that Daryl went through, and she straightened a few things in the living room that had been left out of place the night before when they'd all finished watching a movie together and left their odds and ends right where they were to put Sophia to bed and retire themselves.

When she stepped back to the sliding door, Carol scanned the yard in search of Sophia. Her daughter was allowed to go wherever she wanted in the yard—front or back—but Daryl had set the rule that she couldn't venture to the front yard without letting someone know because it was close to the road and it made Daryl nervous.

Carol couldn't imagine that Sophia would break Daryl's rules, but the little girl was no longer visible. Carol opened the door and stepped out on the porch. She walked to the railing and craned her neck to look toward the side of the yard where the fence curled around to the side of house, hoping to find Sophia there instead of discovering that she'd opened the gate and slipped out without saying anything.

"Sophia?" Carol asked, keeping her voice relatively low. When there wasn't a response, she raised her voice a notch and repeated her daughter's name. "Sophia? Where are you? Come back around to the back."

Carol thought she heard Sophia respond—or at least make some kind of noise—and the hair bristled on the back of her neck as a chill crawled up her spine. She held her breath, hoping to find that Sophia was simply seeking to play some kind of game of hide-and-seek and would be found just out of sight at the other side of the porch steps, and she crossed the porch quickly and dismounted the wooden steps.

Immediately she saw him and the blood froze in her veins.

Seeing him was bad enough. Seeing him, alone, would have been enough to stop her heart. But seeing him with his hand wrapped around Sophia's mouth, her body held tight against him, was enough to make Carol's vision narrow slightly.

"Please," was the only word that Carol could find. She repeated it several times, feeling entirely unable to even locate another word in the whole of her vocabulary. "Please."

"You thought I wouldn't find ya?" Ed said, his voice calm even if it was a little slurred. Carol knew him well enough to know that the times she needed to fear Ed the most were the times when his anger was visible and he had the calmest tone of voice. "Thought I wouldn't know your whore ass was laid up here with your damn Boy Scout boyfriend while you was makin' an ass outta me?"

Carol swallowed. She considered her options. She was entirely without a weapon. The gun that she'd learned to shoot for just such a threat remained inside, on the bar, where she couldn't reach it. She was barely even dressed enough to consider her outfit appropriate since the backyard was secluded and blocked off from prying eyes by the privacy fence. If she tried to run for the phone or the gun, Ed would surely hurt Sophia.

And Carol wasn't going to let that happen. No matter what happened to her, she was going to figure out a way for Sophia to make it out of this.

Carol wasn't going to let Ed hurt Sophia. It was the one thing she'd always promised herself and she'd sacrificed too much to keep Sophia safe for her to simply allow it to happen now.

"She's just a little girl," Carol said, finding that her voice had returned to her. There were, apparently, some emotions that were stronger than fear. "You don't want her."

Ed laughed at her, low in his throat, and Carol swallowed against the wave of nausea that his humor brought.

"Never did," Ed said, keeping his hold on Sophia and keeping his hand clasped tightly over her mouth. Sophia stood, still, in front of him and stared at Carol with her eyes as wide as they could be. Carol shook her head gently at Sophia, hoping to signal to her that she shouldn't move. She shouldn't fight. She should stay still enough that a man like Ed Peletier might even forget she was there.

 _Apparently Sophia understood her._

"It's me you want, Ed," Carol said. Her chest felt tight, but it was a new sensation for her. Carol realized, oddly enough, that she wasn't afraid of Ed at that moment. At least, she wasn't afraid of him like she'd ever been afraid of him before. She didn't fear what he might to do her. She was only afraid of what he might do to Sophia—what she wasn't going to allow him to do, even if she still wasn't sure how she'd stop him.

"You've had the damn cops watching my every move," Ed said. "Been on my ass damn near all the time."

 _But not enough, apparently. Somehow he'd found her. Somehow he'd found a way to get there. Somehow he was in Daryl's backyard with her daughter in his grasp and the cops were nowhere to be seen._

"Let's talk about it, Ed," Carol said. "We can talk about it. I know—I made a mistake. I shouldn't've told them anything, Ed. I shouldn't have run like I did. I didn't mean to do it. I just—wasn't thinking."

Seeing a shift in Ed's expression, Carol kept going. She strung together words and phrases that meant nothing to her. She ran together one lie after another about how she was wrong to leave him and how she missed him. She told him they could talk about things—she _wanted_ to talk about things—and she was sure they could work things out.

And Ed started to relax. His anger wasn't leaving, that was clear, but he was being at least somewhat soothed. He was hearing what he wanted to hear. Years of experience had taught Carol the things that Ed wanted to hear. And she'd say anything, at that moment, to gain Sophia's freedom.

"Just let her go, Ed," Carol said. "You don't want anything to do with her. You and me—we can talk about it. We can work it out. I know—you're angry with me, Ed. But it's _me_ you're angry with. It's _me_ who—wasn't thinking."

Probably without even realizing it, Ed loosened his grip on Sophia. Carol tried to communicate with her eyes that Sophia shouldn't move. Not yet. It wasn't time.

Sophia seemed to understand. Though she was technically free while Ed was distracted by Carol's words and his own struggle to decide what he really wanted—what he'd really come there for—she stood still in front of him so as not to startle him or alert him to her freedom, her eyes still wide and her chest heaving from a fear that Carol hated she even had to experience.

Carol swallowed back the lump in her throat that, for once in the face of Ed's anger, wasn't caused by her fear of the man but rather was caused by her fear for her child. She let a few of her tears flow despite her desire to hold them back because Ed would want to see them. He would enjoy them. He would believe they were for him—they were for her fear of him.

 _Ed enjoyed her fear._

"Please, Ed," Carol said. "Forgive me? I'm sorry, Ed. I'm so— _sorry_!"

"She his damn kid?" Ed asked. "You laid up an' had his damn kid under my fuckin' roof?" Carol didn't dare to respond. Sophia remained where she was, still staring at Carol and waiting for some kind of sign of what she should do. "How damn many of my kids you kill? Had his damn kid and got rid of mine? How many other damn men were you whoring around with? Who else were you fucking, Carol?"

Carol shook her head gently. The head shake was to Sophia, who Carol saw start to move a little, but Ed took it as the only response she had to his question. It didn't matter, though, it got her exactly what she wanted—and the timing was as good as it could ever be, honestly.

In anger, Ed forgot Sophia where she stood and jumped toward Carol. Knowing he'd pursue her, Carol sidestepped, guiding him farther away from the steps and closer to the center of the yard—closer to where Daryl had chosen to place the grill to keep smoke from blowing up to the porch and disturbing anyone who might be sitting there and who might not want to be caught in a cloud of it. Ed followed Carol just like she'd anticipated and she let him get close to her before she yelled out to Sophia.

"Go!" Carol yelled desperately, hoping her daughter would obey her. "Go! Sophia! In the house! Lock the door! Go! Now!"

Before Carol could see if Sophia heeded her words, she heard Ed spit the word "bitch" at her and he caught her, slamming her down to the ground with his full weight. As soon as she hit the ground, Carol rolled and tried to get to her knees, hoping to at least gain a little more distance through crawling away from him. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Sophia dart across the porch and she knew the girl was headed inside—away from Ed.

 _At least she wouldn't have to see anything._

Carol was never as strong as Ed. She'd never be as strong as Ed. He outweighed her and he could overpower her easily. It was the reason that the abuse had been able to continue for so long. She simply couldn't fight back—not the same way that Ed could fight. His physical strength, coupled with the mental and emotional control he had over her, kept her in line. His muscle strength allowed him to beat her. His mental control allowed him to keep her from rebelling when she had any potential to gain the upper hand.

But Ed no longer had the hold over her that he once did. Carol knew, now, what it was to be loved by someone who simply wanted to love her—someone who wanted nothing more than the simple things in life that she wanted and someone who wanted to touch her body with hands that weren't seeking to hurt her. Ed couldn't hold her any longer.

 _Carol wasn't sorry for any of it._

She wasn't sorry that she'd stirred him up and invited him to come after her so that he'd forget about Sophia and distance himself from the girl. She wasn't sorry that she let him catch her to keep him busy for a few moments while Sophia slipped away. She wasn't sorry for the blows he landed as she fought against him to gain any ground she could.

And she wasn't sorry when she got her hand wrapped around the cast iron shovel that Daryl used to clean out the grill and brought the tool to the side of Ed's face with all the strength that she could muster. She wasn't sorry, either, when she did it again—and again—until she'd rendered him unconscious.

The blows that Ed had landed did enough to blur Carol's vision a little and the tears that she couldn't control stung as they hit the skin that he'd broken. She stumbled when she found her feet, slightly dizzy from the struggle, but she held onto the shovel as she made her way across the yard, determined to hit him again if he should wake from what she'd already done to him and come seeking more. Carol practically crawled up the porch steps and dropped the shovel just outside the sliding door.

With shaking hands and her face flooding with tears, Sophia unlocked the sliding door and immediately threw herself against Carol, wrapping her arms around her. Carol pushed Sophia back enough to get in the door and locked it before she allowed herself to relax. She slid down the wall in the kitchen, pulling Sophia with her, until the girl rested in her lap like she was no more than a baby.

"Shhhh," Carol hummed softly. "Shhhh...sweetheart, it's OK. I'm OK. Are you OK?"

Sophia looked at her. She was clearly physically fine, but the tears in her eyes said that she would take a little time to over the emotions that she was feeling. She reached a hand up and touched Carol's face. When she pulled it back, Carol could see blood on her daughter's fingertips. Her blood.

Carol shook her head at Sophia and took the girl's hand, wiping it on her shirt.

"I need you to get me the phone," Carol said. "We have to call the police and—I need you to get me the phone, sweetheart, but I'm OK."

"Mama..." was all that Sophia managed to say, her chin trembling desperately.

Carol forced a smile and nodded her head at Sophia.

"I'm fine," Carol said. "I'm—I'm still your Mama, and I'm fine, sweetheart. I promise. But we need to call the police so they can come and get him."

Sophia nodded her head.

"I did," she said.

"What?" Carol asked.

"I did," Sophia said. "I called 9-1-1. Just like Daddy said if there was anything bad."

Carol grabbed her daughter and pulled her into her, holding her tight again. Sophia sunk into her and returned the hug. Carol stroked her hair, hoping to calm her.

It was just a matter of time, now, and the gun would be easy to get to if she needed it. Carol was pretty sure, though, that she wasn't going to need it. She didn't imagine Ed would get up from where he lie—at least, not without assistance.

"I called Daddy, too," Sophia said.

Carol swallowed and hummed at Sophia, continuing to stroke her hair and rub her back at intervals because she could feel her calming some under the comforting touch. She kept speaking, as calmly and as soothingly as she possibly could to the girl, even after she could hear the sound of sirens growing rapidly closer in the street outside.

"You did good, Sophia," Carol said. "It's all over. You did—so good, sweetheart. I love you and—it's all over—and you did so good."


	31. Chapter 31

**AN: Here we are. This chapter brings this little story to an end.**

 **Thank you to everyone who has read, and a special thank you to everyone who has reviewed and commented throughout the story to let me know that you were reading.**

 **I hope that you enjoy the final chapter and I hope that you enjoyed the story as a whole! Let me know what you think!**

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"He's gone," Carol said, her voice barely carrying even in the silent room. "He's gone, sweetheart." Daryl stood with his arms crossed across his chest and watched as Carol lie on her side with Sophia facing her in the bed. The day had carried so much activity that they'd missed any semblance of a normal evening and they were just getting Sophia to bed hours beyond her normal bedtime.

Their afternoon and evening had consisted of a trip to the hospital, more than a few conversations with police and officials, and a long meeting with Andrea and another lawyer that had taken place over pizza in Andrea's office so that Sophia could at least sit, eat, and watch television in the waiting room instead of feeling trapped all day.

There would be testimonies that still needed to be made in court, and they would walk Sophia through it all with as much support as they could possibly give her, but Ed was in custody and he wasn't getting out. Andrea was sure, too, that her lawyer friend could get Ed the harshest sentence possible for felony assault and battery. Carol had caused him a great deal of injury, but it would be wiped away as self-defense. The police testified to the danger she and Sophia had been in—especially once they found the gun on Ed's person and the proof, in his vehicle, that he'd intended to take Carol back with him, bound, if it was necessary. The hospital testified to the fractures and cuts that Carol had received before she'd gotten her hands on the cast iron shovel—which was now evidence—that had likely saved her life and possibly Sophia's. The brutality of Carol's retaliation—from which Ed may not fully recover—would be explained by simply arguing that she was a mother who feared for her life and the life of her child. The shovel, which was perhaps an overly effective weapon, was the only thing she had, so she'd used it.

"But what if he comes back?" Sophia asked. She trailed a finger up to touch the one of the bandages on Carol's face—bandages that Daryl would change before they went to bed to keep away any risk of infection.

"He won't come back, sweetheart," Carol said. "He's not coming back. They're going to put him in jail where he can't come back."

"But what if he does?" Sophia asked again.

"He's not gonna come back, Soph," Daryl said, standing up from his leaning position and crossing the room to sit on the edge of the bed. He rubbed Sophia's leg through the blanket. "But if he does? We're gonna stop him. Simple as that."

Sophia sat up and looked at Daryl.

"But then Mama will get hurt again," Sophia said.

Daryl shook his head at Sophia.

"No," Daryl said. "We won't let that happen again. I won't let it happen again. And—when we go tomorrow and you pick you out that dog you been wantin'? The dog won't let it happen neither."

Sophia rested her head on her pillow again. The dog had been a quick decision made between Daryl and Carol in the emergency room, no less, to try to calm Sophia. A dog meant companionship and play, but it could also mean a certain level of protection. Maybe, if they'd had a dog, Ed would have never gotten in the back gate. Maybe he would have never tried because the animal would have alerted Carol to his presence and woken up everyone in the neighborhood.

And, maybe, a dog would make Sophia feel more secure.

The girl was handling everything that happened well, and she'd talked quite sincerely to the police officers that had questioned her and offered her ice cream afterwards to soothe any discomfort that reliving the experience might have brought about, but she was worried about Carol. In fact, Carol was her greatest concern at the moment.

Her mother had protected her, but Sophia's greatest fear had been losing Carol while Carol's greatest fear had been losing Sophia.

And Daryl was still dealing with his feelings about the possibility of having lost them both to a man that, in Daryl's opinion, could never suffer as much as he deserved to suffer.

"I'm OK, sweetheart," Carol assured Sophia for the tenth or twelfth time in the past few hours. "I'm just fine. And all of this? It's going to heal."

"And you're going to stay with us?" Sophia asked.

Daryl saw Carol nod her head. She smiled at Sophia and trailed her finger around Sophia's face, tracing the freckles that dotted her cheeks.

"For as long as..." Carol started.

"Forever," Daryl said quickly, interrupting her before she could resort to any form of "as long as I'm allowed" or "as long as your Daddy wants me here".

Carol glanced at him and then looked back at Sophia. She nodded her head again.

"I'm going to stay," Carol assured Sophia. "Forever. I'm only leaving if—if we all go together. You and me and your Daddy."

"And the puppy," Sophia pointed out.

Daryl laughed to himself and he heard Carol fail to swallow back her amusement.

"The puppy too," Carol said.

"We go anywhere," Daryl said, "we're all goin' together. That's what we do. We're family. We go together. But—you gotta get some sleep, Soph. It's way past your bedtime and I called the shelter. They ain't open but a couple hours tomorrow and you don't wanna sleep too late and miss the chance to get your pup."

Sophia looked hard at Carol.

"You're gonna go with us?" Sophia asked.

Carol nodded her head again.

"I am," Carol said. "I am—I'm gonna go with you. I can do that now. I can—leave the house. I can go with you."

"Because he's gone?" Sophia asked.

"Because he's gone," Carol confirmed.

"But none of us is going if you don't go to sleep an' let us get some sleep," Daryl said. He got up and leaned over Carol, resting his hand on her shoulder so that he didn't topple onto her and Sophia, to give Sophia a kiss. She leaned up enough to meet him and make it easier on him. "I love ya."

"I love you too, Daddy," Sophia said sincerely.

"You need us? You know where to find us, right? Just—just across the house. But how about you knock first, though? OK. Just—so you don't scare nobody that's sleepin' too good," Daryl said, straightening up.

Sophia nodded her head and breathed out an "OK" to him. Daryl left her where she was and patted Carol's arm to let her know that he was going to leave her alone for a few moments with the girl to finish tucking her in. He would take his time checking the locks again and preparing the house for the night. He wanted Carol and Sophia to have a few more minutes together, in private, to say whatever they needed to say.

There were some things, after all, that he assumed could only be said between a mother and daughter.

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The burning on her face was so widespread that it almost didn't hurt anymore. Daryl blew gently over the broken skin after he finished cleaning it and then he delicately replaced the bandages from the large supply they'd purchased after leaving the hospital.

It wasn't that bad.

Her nose was broken and there was one place where Ed had broken the skin well enough to require a few stitches, but that was mostly because he'd seemed to have broken open the last wound he'd left in that exact spot.

The other spots, on her arms, chest, and face, she'd barely even noticed until the hospital staff had pointed them out. Mostly they were cuts, scratches, and scrapes. Her knees, too, were slightly scraped from her impact with the ground.

It wasn't that bad. Honestly, Carol had seen worse.

But it was enough. Ed's attack on her, his threats to Sophia, and the items he'd never used but had, perhaps, _intended_ to use, were enough. He'd go to jail for a while. In jail he'd be known as a man who had attacked, and possibly planned to kill, a woman and child. His record would follow him forever.

Sophia was safe, though, and that was the most important thing. Sophia was safe and Carol was finally free from Ed.

"I can clean this myself," Carol said softly as Daryl worked his way through the whole process.

"I wanna do it," Daryl said.

Carol allowed him to do it because it was clear that he meant what he said. He wanted to do it. He wanted to help. He hadn't said too much during the day, but Carol thought she understood his silence as much as she would have understood any words that he might have strung together. He was dealing with a lot of feelings in his own way, and Carol was happy to let him deal as he needed. He was feeling a little guilty for not having been there—for not having read Ed's mind from a distance or something of the like—and he wanted to do what he could for her and for Sophia. Carol wanted him to do what made him feel best.

"I'm—I don't want you to take this wrong—but I'm kind of glad that you weren't here," Carol said.

Daryl furrowed his brows at her.

"I coulda stopped this," Daryl said.

"And you might have gone to prison for murder," Carol said. "They might not—it might not have been seen as self-defense. Not in the same way. I'm glad that it was me. And—I'm glad that—I'm glad I was _able_ to do it. If that makes any sense at all."

Daryl laughed to himself.

"More'n you know," he said. "I get it."

"It lets me know I could do it again," Carol said. "If he came back? If I had to? I could do it again. I didn't lie to Soph every time I comforted her today. What I said was true. What you said was true. We'd stop him if he came back. I'd stop him if he came back. I'm never letting him touch her again."

"I know you ain't," Daryl said with some sincerity, even though he was clearly paying a great deal of attention to his work with the bandages—much more attention than it really required. "He ain't comin' back, though. That was the truth too."

"He might," Carol said. "We can hope they'll put him away forever but—we don't know that they will."

"We don't," Daryl agreed. "But what I do know is that towns like this ain't quick to forget stuff. If he was to come back here? To this town even? He'd be drummed out of here bigger'n shit. Wouldn't get a job. Probably couldn't even find a place to rent. Towns like this don't forget shit like what he tried to do today. They won't soon forget this."

"But it doesn't mean he'll never try," Carol said.

Daryl shrugged his shoulders.

"Tell you the truth, I'd understand if you don't want to stay here," Daryl said. "If you wanna—pack up and go somewhere else. Move a couple towns away. An hour away. Pick up somewhere I ain't lived before. Somewhere you ain't lived before. If you wanted to do that? I'd understand."

"I can't ask you to do that," Carol said. "I wouldn't. You're just getting settled here. Sophia's getting settled here. And Merle and Andrea are close by. I know you love that."

"An hour or two ain't that far to drive," Daryl said. "And spendin' a weekend with 'em's just as good as seein' 'em here or there. I love havin' 'em close, but hell—that's because I been on my own with Soph for so long. Truth is—they might not stay here that long. Andrea up and finds a better job and they move on. That's what they do. If you wanna move somewhere—get us a fresh start where don't nobody know nothin' about Ed and about—about Sophia bein' left on my doorstep? We'll go somewhere where—where all they gotta know is that I'm Daryl and you're..."

He stopped talking. He didn't pick his words back up very quickly and Carol finally pressed him to continue.

"And I'm?" She urged.

Daryl swallowed.

"I was hopin' to say that—you're Carol. You're—my _wife_. And, you know, this is Sophia and...our dog and...maybe, one day, some kid brother or sister for Sophia. Ya know? They don't gotta know all the rest. It ain't none of their business. All they gotta know is—we're just a family."

Carol laughed to herself.

"They just have to know we're a family," she echoed. Daryl nodded his head. "They don't have to know how we got here."

"Yeah," Daryl said. "Somethin' like that. I mean—it don't gotta happen right now. Can't happen right now. Not with everything goin' on with Ed. They're gonna want you around here. But—you know—one day. If it's what you wanted."

"You want to marry me, Daryl?" Carol asked.

"Can't think of nothin' I've wanted more," Daryl said. He'd finished with the bandages, but he was still sitting on his knees on the floor in front of Carol like he had more to do.

"As soon as my divorce is final?" Carol asked. "Or...?"

"Very same day," Daryl said. "If they'll let'cha do such a thing. If you... _wanted_ to do it."

Carol nodded her head at Daryl.

"I want to marry you," Carol said. Daryl smiled in response to the declaration. "And I want—to have a family with you. The whole thing. Sophia. Another child. Maybe two?"

Daryl laughed to himself and nodded his head.

"Yeah—I mean yeah," he stammered. "I never really thought about it, but if that's what you want?"

"I want everything with you," Carol promised him. "And here or there or—wherever? It doesn't matter to me. What people know and what they say? It doesn't matter to me. I just—want _this_. I want you and me and Sophia...and everything good that's waiting on us."

Daryl's cheeks burned a slight pink. He sat back on his feet, raised up on his knees, and then sat back on his feet again. He smiled to himself, a burst of sound coming out that wasn't quite laughter.

"You got no idea how damn good that sounds to me," Daryl said. "Because—I do love you."

Carol nodded her head. She couldn't help but smile at him.

"I know," she said. "And—I know it even more because...you can sit in front of me looking like I look right now and say it again."

Daryl shook his head.

"Beautiful," Daryl said. He ran his tongue across his lips. "Ain't that what you said about me?"

Carol swallowed.

The first time she'd been with Daryl—the first sincere conversation they'd had—he'd told her about his scars. He'd made it clear, too, that they were something that he didn't really like talking about. She knew enough. She knew enough that she didn't need to ask him about them again. She knew enough to know that they'd come from someone who wasn't able to save him from the "Ed" in his life.

She knew enough to know that he'd take his daughter in, off the threshold of his back door at dusk, just to save her from knowing what he'd known.

"Beautiful," Carol breathed out, swallowing against the lump in her throat. "And—I love you too."

"Battle wounds," Daryl said. "We both got 'em."

Carol laughed to herself and nodded her head.

"Yeah," she said. "I guess—we do."

"So we're doin' this? Take care of what we gotta take care of here. Move somewhere. Start us a fresh life together with the dog and the kids and the whole—whole damn thing?"

Carol smiled and nodded.

"But one step at a time," Carol said. "Let's just—start with us right now. The dog tomorrow? Maybe start picking a town? We'll work on the rest."

Daryl leaned up and offered Carol a kiss that he placed on her lips delicately enough to not disturb her newly broken nose. She returned it with all the enthusiasm that she could. The kiss was worth any pain it caused her. She'd suffered more pain for far less return.

Daryl raised his eyebrows at her when he pulled away and smiled at her.

"Fast or slow," Daryl said, "it don't matter to me how we get there just so long as we're all headed to the same place together."

Carol nodded her head.

"Absolutely," she assured him once more. "We're a family. We go together. And—now that I've found you? I'm not letting go of you— _either_ of you—ever again."


End file.
